


Étoile des Neiges

by BloodyFlammable



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Board Games, Boys In Love, Draco's logic, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff fluff fluff!, Getting Together, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Muggle Studies, Oh and Draco owns a cat, Pining, Skiing, Snow, Snowball Fight, Unresolved Tension, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-02-23
Packaged: 2018-09-14 01:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9150595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BloodyFlammable/pseuds/BloodyFlammable
Summary: Potter was leaning against the doorframe, feet bare, jeans low on his hips, ear pierced, nose red from the cold.He was smirking as if the sole purpose of his existence was to drive Draco crazy.The eighth years spend the holidays in a French ski resort and Draco comes to terms with his feelings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I placed the action in France, because I've never been skiing in the UK, so I don't know how everything works there.  
>   
> A thousand thanks to [Drakey](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Drakey) who's done a incredible beta job. Kudos on you ♥, you're the best.

Potter had a nice arse, Draco couldn’t deny it.

In fact, Potter had a very fuckable arse in Draco’s opinion. Not that he had much experience in the matter, mind. It was just really hard not to look when Harry fucking Potter was a few feet away, bent over a thick, hard metal bar. So, there he was, grabbing his own thick, hard and cold bar, enjoying the view and the irony.

Because, as hard as he tried to understand, Draco really didn’t get why they had to do _this_ of all things.

He had figured out a while ago that what he had been taught since he was born was a bunch of rubbish. He was even glad that Muggle studies had been a mandatory course for all of them this year. For fuck’s sake, he was even willing to admit that, perhaps, he might have some things to learn from Muggles!

When McGonagall had brought up the idea for the eighth years to do some practical work during the hols, Draco had been, well, not delighted, but at least curious.

But now, riding a butt lift (or whatever it was called), following Potter’s fucking ass, freezing his balls off, Draco couldn’t help but wonder how on earth Granger could have thought _this_ was a good subject to study.

Come to think of it, the whole thing must be some kind of joke, because, really, why did he have to be lifted by a metal bar stuck between his legs when he could just have Apparated to the summit? And how, for Salazar’s bullocks, could the Muggles enjoy climbing and hurtling down the mountain when clearly that was a dangerous business? If they wanted to be down the mountain they could just, well, _not climb it in the first place_.

The lift didn’t seem to ever end and Draco’s ears were starting to get really cold. He thought for a moment about renewing his warming charm, but there was no way he would let go of his grip on the metal bar to reach for his wand, so instead he decided to focus on the hottest thing in sight. It was not Draco’s fault that the thing in question was Potter’s bum.

Everything happened very fast.

For some reason, Potter’s hips twitched and he fell forward. He tried to catch the bar, but it was already out of reach. In his manoeuvre, he had somehow managed to turn over and was now facing Draco. Before Draco could think of what to do, he was falling over Potter who didn’t have the good sense to move out of Draco’s way.

Draco, on the other hand, used his brain and quickly got back on his feet.

He pushed on his sticks and managed to slide out of the lift’s way.

“Budge over, you idiot!”

Potter seemed to get his senses back and crawled – _crawled!_ –  towards Draco. Admittedly, that was a good move, because Potter had no chance to pick himself up _and_ ski out of Blaise’s way in time. But he managed to look no less ridiculous doing so.

Blaise laughed when he passed them. “See you later, tossers!”

Draco scowled and turned towards Potter, who was now standing on his feet. “What the hell, Potter?”

“Oh, sod off,” he grumbled, rubbing his left elbow.

“You had one fucking thing to do! Grab the sodding bar and bloody wait, for fuck’s sake!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay, I…” Oh. A slight but noticeable shade of pink was colouring his cheeks. “I got distracted.”

“You got distracted,” Draco scowled. “Right.”

“I said I’m sorry. Could you please leave it there?” Then, to Draco’s surprise, Potter asked, “Are you hurt?”

“Well,” Draco felt a bruise forming on his side, where he had landed on Potter’s knee. There had been a time when he would have claimed to need an amputation and threatened to have Potter sent to Azkaban for molesting him. But that time was past. Plus there was no way he would show the bruise in this cold. “No, I’m alright.”

Draco removed his gloves and began to shake the snow out of them. “Though I’m probably literally freezing my nuts off right now.” The place was crowded with Muggles, there was no way he could pull out his wand and cast a warming charm without being noticed. “How aren’t you shivering to death?”

Potter was covered in snow. There was snow in his gloves. There was snow in his scarf; there was snow in the wild hair locks escaping from his absurd Gryffindor woolly hat. There was even snow on his impossibly long eyelashes –behind his glasses, mind!– and on his lips.

The whole sight was simply ridiculous.

“Well, for once, I’m properly dressed-”

Draco snorted.

“And,” Potter added fiercely, “I happen to cast a decent warming charm.”

While Potter started to tighten the links of whatever that was he had chosen instead of skis, -because Draco had checked, skis were supposed to be a two part package-, Draco began to shake the snow off his neck and ears. The latter had lost all feeling and were starting to ache painfully from the cold. He really needed a warming charm right now.

Potter bent his head and gave him a questioning look, “Why don’t you wear a beany?”

“Because, Potter, I have something called fashion sense.”

“Oh, please, Malfoy, you are skiing, nobody gives a shit about your fucking hair.”

“Speak for yourself,” Draco straightened and glared at Potter with as much disdain as he could gather. “Your hair always looks like a blast ended skrewt’s nest.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “At least _I_ won't die of chilblain.” He sighed and, against all odds, took his horrible Gryffindor hat off. His hair was even messier than usual after the outrage. “Here, take mine.”

Draco glared at Potter’s outstretched hand and blinked. Twice. “Although I appreciate the offer,” He said slowly, “I’d rather not. Thank you anyway.”

Potter rolled his eyes again. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Potter reduced the few feet between them with a succession of little jumps. Draco had to admit he managed very well, because really, how could he move about otherwise, both Potter’s feet were attached to a single board. And then, without any warning, Potter attacked him with his beany.

Draco tried to struggle but before he could know what was happening, he was unexpectedly sitting on his bum; Potter was sprawled on his lap, both hands on Draco’s head. A warm feeling spread from his chest to his belly, and Draco was positive that it had little to do with the hot beany now resting on his head. Feeling his cheeks heat, he dismissed the thought and looked up the slope. Certainly someone would come by and cover them both in snow or simply crash into them at speed. Somehow, Draco couldn’t bring himself to care.

Now that he considered it, he had to admit that wearing Potter’s beany wasn’t exactly unpleasant.

Potter chuckled. Right, he was wearing a Gryffindor hat. Draco scowled at Potter, who let a bright laugh escape. The sound was like honey in Draco’s ears. Merlin, when did Potter stop being a scrawny little runt to become this charming-

Draco pushed the giggling idiot away and carefully rose to his feet. Like he had anticipated, the skis were _not_ stable once on a real ski run.

“All right, but I toss it away as soon as we join the others. And if you mention this to anyone, I swear to god, I-”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll hex my balls off, whatever,” Potter winked, - _winked_ , Merlin, what was wrong with him?- and jumped to his feet. “So,” Potter looked towards the skiing path, then the bars that were still carrying people up. “Are we supposed to catch one of them to climb what’s left of the mountain?”

“You tell me!” Draco frowned. Potter seemed genuinely confused. “Didn’t your Muggles ever take you skiing?”

Potter laughed. He must have broken at some point, because he never laughed whenever Draco brought Potter’s Muggles into the conversation.

“Right, between swimming lessons and Disneyland,” Potter said sarcastically. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I’m capable of catching one of them.” He pointed a finger towards three free bars in a row that were coming soon.

Draco let go a relieved sigh. “So, we’ll just, er,” he turned his head to look at the white large path behind him. “We’ll just go down?”

“Aren’t we supposed to wait for the others to come? They won’t be long now, I reckon.”

It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t you listen to anything? Granger said there were two paths from the summit, and they agreed to follow the other one, because there is a _café_ at the end.”

Draco didn’t wait for Potter's response and began to carefully turn away with the aid of his two sticks. He froze as he saw a bunch of kids hurtling down the slope at full speed. They were too numerous for a too tiny space, and they were skiing in a messy way, none of them following the same path, and oh god, there was going to be a crash.

There.

The children crashed.

One of them collided with another and both of them lost their skis and they rolled, all tangled limbs, for at least one hundred metres.

“Ouch,” Potter rasped behind him, “That looks painful.”

“Yeah, let’s just,” Draco bit his bottom lip as he watched the two boys go back to their feet and begin to climb back the slope. “Let’s not do that, alright?”

“Right.”

Draco turned his head to look at Potter’s equipment. He didn’t have the sticks Draco had. “Have you lost your sticks?”

Potter shook his head. “There aren’t any poles with the snowboard.” He pointed to his feet.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “So why on earth have you chosen this?” The sticks seemed very safe, in Draco’s opinion. They were there to prevent the falling, after all.

Potter shrugged. “That looked steadier.”

The hell, that looked steadier, yeah. Draco was sure Potter had chosen the feet-tying-board-with-no-sticks to appear courageous or whatever. Fucking Gryffindors.

“Whenever you want,” Potter prompted, “I’ll try to follow you.”

“Okay, just give me a minute.” There were a lot of people. Was Draco supposed to go and integrate among them? “Or five.” _Or until the park is closed and there is no one left on the piste._

“You can do this, Draco.”

Draco? Where did that came from?

He jerked his head back and saw Potter’s cheeks covered in an endearing shade of red. Wait. Endearing? Draco shook his head and forced himself to look away.

He and Potter were definitely _not_ on first name basis. They weren’t enemies anymore, sure, but they weren’t friends either. They were at most acquaintances. Acquaintances that sometimes shared cordial conversations at night in the common room. Acquaintances that sometimes crossed paths, wearing only towels on their hips, in the bathrooms. Just, you know. Acquaintances. Nothing more.

Draco wasn’t sure how to take Potter’s slip. If it wasn’t for the goose bumps he felt forming on his forearms, he would have said he didn’t like it. But, hell, it was his given name. The name his mother had chosen for him. It was perfectly understandable to be sentimental over it, right?

The whole thing at least had the benefit of distracting Draco from his anxiety, and when he recovered from his surprise, the ski run was as free as he could hope.

He took a deep breath.

He pushed on his sticks and… entered the piste. He had to confess to himself that it wasn’t that bad. The skis were sliding gently on the snow. The only problem was that he had almost arrived to the other side of the piste and, holy shit, did he have to _turn_ , now? He chose to stop instead and remember the position Granger had showed him. He parted his legs and began to slow down. In fact, he had slowed enough to actually st-

“What the fuck, Potter?” Draco shouted.

Potter’s board had slotted between Draco’s legs and Potter had slammed into Draco. Somehow, Draco had managed to keep his balance, therefore they were both on their feet, except that Potter was now leaning against Draco’s back and bracing his waist. _Bracing his waist!_

Draco detangled from Potter’s grip and shouted. “What on earth happened in your head that led you to think that was-”

“Oh, fuck off, Malfoy,” Potter jumped a few feet back. “I didn’t do it on purpose and you know it.” Draco wasn’t sure of that, but so be it. “I said I’d follow you. Why did you stop?”

Draco gazed at Potter in disbelief, “Duh,” he waved towards the firs a few metres before them. “I wasn’t going to run into the trees, was I?”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Why didn’t you turn?"

Draco pictured a Hungarian Horntail burning Potter on the spot. That helped.

Potter bit his lips. "Maybe you should try the snowplough again," He slid closer to Draco. "Since you've been brilliant with that on the baby run."

_What?_

"Or maybe..." Draco could feel Potter’s breath on his cheek. "I'm not sure exactly how it works since Hermione couldn't show us before, but she wanted to teach us something called godille. I'm quite sure it's a way to negotiate the bends."

Potter's lips were chapped and pink, and oh god, did he really need to come _that_ close?

"Look." He pointed towards a group of skiers.

They were drawing large bends on the snow. Maybe the _godille_ was this classy, easy-looking way of turning. Draco watched them for a moment and took their technique in. They weren’t going too fast; that looked safe enough. He could have a try. He had to, anyhow, or else he would do something absolutely unfortunate.

Draco pushed on his sticks to detangle his skis from Potter's board. “Whatever, prat.” He bent forward.

He tried to follow the group of skiers. The first bend was laboured, and Draco nearly fell a couple of times, but he kept his eyes on the skiers ahead of him and soon found the technique. Tilt right to turn right, tilt left to turn left. Easy enough. He was sure he wasn’t half as graceful as the kids in red suits he was following, but yes, that seemed to work.

After a few turns, Draco felt comfortable enough to enjoy the wind on his cheeks. Once or twice, he almost lost his balance, but managed anyway.

He was cold on his teeth because he couldn’t help but grin and he felt good. He felt free.

All too soon, Draco’s speed slowed down with the slope.

A couple of seconds after he had stopped, Potter arrived, grinning. “That was cool, wasn’t it?”

Potter’s hair was slicked back by the wind, his glasses crooked and his nose and cheeks were red. Draco felt his own cheeks burning so he looked away. “What do we do now?”

“We could climb back and join the others. I’m sure they are waiting for us at the top.”

Draco was sceptical about the last part but agreed anyway and they started to line up again. There were more people waiting than the first time, and quickly, Draco felt much warmer than earlier. In fact, the sun was beginning to shine and he was a little hot under the hat. But, hey, you never know with the sun, better keep the hat, just in case.

“It’s kinda like flying, don’t you think?” Facing Draco’s interrogative look, Potter added “The descent.”

“Yes, I,” Potter had put a word to Draco’s feeling. “I felt exactly like the first time I flew a broom, actually.”

Wait. Since when did Draco talk to Potter about his childhood memories? Since when did he talk about _feelings_? Geez, that must be the skiing thing. These Muggles were insidious, weren’t they?

Seeing the huge grin on Potter’s lips, and the sparkles in his eyes, Draco thought that maybe, _maybe_ , Muggles were on to something.

He looked away and forced himself to think straight.

“Out of curiosity,” Draco smirked, “how was _the godille_ with this devil board?”

Potter laughed. Draco noticed that he did a lot of that today. Maybe it was the mountain. “I don’t know.”

“You didn’t-“

“Nope,” Potter giggled, “I waited until you were far enough and I just,” he made a hissing sound along with a hand gesture “went tout schuss.” Potter looked satisfied to have remembered what Hermione called a straight run down. Draco didn’t point out that he’d mispronounced it.

This uninhibited Potter was a whole picture, and Draco couldn’t help but laugh.

Quickly, they reached the end of the line.

“Back off, Potter, if you fall this time, you fall alone.”

Potter shrugged and let him grab the first bar. _Button lift_ Potter had corrected him.

Not scared out of his mind and not having Potter’s arse to look at this time, Draco enjoyed the landscape. He was glad to have kept the hat because the more he ascended the slope, the more he felt the chilling wind on his cheeks. He wondered if Potter’s head was as cold as his had been, but quickly dismissed the thought. He was not going to think about Potter’s wellbeing when he was holding a hard bar between his legs. However, he was glad he had chosen to wear his Muggle jeans today, because he knew how it made his arse look. You know, just in case Potter was checking.

Once he arrived at the end of the lift, Draco remembered Granger's instructions from earlier. He did his best to reproduce the way the people before him had let go of the bar and proudly managed to clear the path without falling. He skied a dozen metres away and waited for Potter who threw himself on the ground, kicking up a huge amount of snow onto Draco.

“Hey, that was rude!”

In place of an apology, Potter giggled. “So, where are they?”

The answer was easy enough for Draco. They were nowhere to be seen. “Maybe we should ask someone?” He extended a hand to help Potter to his feet. “Stay here, you’re a public danger.”

Draco tried his best to look at ease while skating on the snow. He headed towards a staff member who was bent over some sort of cable. He cleared his throat and the man looked up.

“Good morning Monsieur,” god, did he just call this Muggle ‘Monsieur’? The poor thing wasn’t older than Draco.

“‘ello,” the bloke gave him a wicked smile and started to devour Draco with his eyes. Of course, Draco was absolutely outraged-oh, who was he kidding, that was really pleasant. The guy was, after all, quite handsome. If you liked tall blokes in ski suits with messy dark hair, that was.

Draco smirked and leaned closer. “I’m looking for my friends. They were here, let’s say,” Draco paused to calculate. “Forty minutes ago.” The bloke was drinking his words. “There were fifteen or so.” It was very nice to have this attractive man hanging on his words like this. “They must have waited some time for my mate and I.” Draco waved towards Potter.

Damn, did Draco really _have_ to call Potter his ‘mate’?

“Oh, yeah, I’ve seen zem.” The guy had the loveliest French accent Draco had ever heard. His face broke into a very lovely grin. For a Muggle, that’s to say. “Zey’ve waited for about ten minutes and zey left that way.” He pointed towards the piste Draco knew they’d planned to take. “I ‘eard zem saying you’d catch zem at some point. Zey also mentioned a patroness or somefing.”

“Good,” Draco gave him a sly grin. “Well, thank you, Monsieur.”

He turned to leave but was stopped by a firm grip on his wrist. “Wait, I…” a cute blush spread on the guy’s cheeks. “Would you give me your number?”

Draco had honestly no idea what the guy was talking about. Did he have to show him the badge Granger had given him this morning? “I don’t-“

The guy stopped him. “Never mind. I’m sure I’ll see you around anyway,” he winked, “I work at _Au coin du feu_ tonight.”

Draco nodded in acknowledgment even though he had no idea what the guy was talking about.

“I’m Charles, by ze way.” Another wink.

Draco pushed on his sticks and started to slide. “Draco,” he said with a smirk. Who would have thought that Muggles could be that charming?

Still grinning, he joined Potter who was still in the exact same place, but was now wearing a puzzled look on his face.

“Well?”

Draco composed himself and repeated what Charles had told him.

The piste was a blue one. It would be as easy as the first one, so Draco felt confident. He led the way.

Surprisingly enough, the skis weren’t heavy under his feet. When he was at rest, they were a dead weight, more annoying than anything, but when he was skiing, they felt like a part of him. They felt necessary to steady him, just like his Meteorit felt when flying.

That’s why Draco felt positively betrayed when his left ski got out of control, slipped on his right ski and he fell right on his bum.

“All right, there?”

Draco looked up. Potter was also sitting on the snow, but his position seemed much more intentional. Did the guy even know how to stop without throwing himself on the ground?

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco grumbled. “Just a patch of ice. Why don’t you go first this time, and I will be the one to have fun when you fall?”

“Hmpf.” Draco wasn’t sure because Potter was quite far, but he thought he saw a faint blush on his cheeks. “I’d rather not. You know, just in case.”

Draco scowled. Bloody Gryffindors.

He picked himself up with the help of his sticks and went back to skiing.

Now that he was aware, he was able to distinguish the patches of ice on the snow. Avoiding them was another matter entirely, but he managed.

After what seemed like an hour but could have been just a few minutes, he checked if Potter was still behind him. Reassured, he didn’t stop.

Descending the slope was exhilarating and Draco couldn’t help but laugh as he hurtled down the slope.

Skiing really was like flying. He felt the same sensation of freedom, the same urge to go faster and faster. Even the turning mechanisms were the same. Everything was about balance, really.

They were halfway down the run and Draco was a little smug for having avoided a particularly difficult patch of ice when he was painfully crashed into by Potter. He hadn’t seen that coming and therefore wasn’t prepared for the heavy weight of Potter’s body dragging him down the slope. Both his skis left his boots and he fell forward on his knees. He tried to stop the sliding with his hand but Potter squashed his wrist with some errant limb.

So he did the only thing he could think of: he drove his stick hard into the snow.

That worked.

That worked so well that they were stopped short. Draco’s head, which obviously hadn’t been informed that the stop would be that sudden, collided violently with the handle of his stick.

He collapsed.

“Merlin, Draco.”

Was he currently resting between Potter’s legs?

“Draco, wake up.”

Was Potter whining? And since when was he calling him Draco this casually?

“Oh god, Draco, don’t be dead, please.”

He must have a concussion, otherwise why would he be imagining Potter’s warm hand on his cheek?

Or maybe it was Potter who must have a concussion, because Merlin, why was he molesting Draco? His whole face was hurting.

Draco winced, and wincing was painful, so instead he groaned.

“Thank Merlin, you’re not dead,” Potter cried.

For a painfully long second, Draco thought Potter was about to kiss him, but really, it must be the blow because why would Potter be kissing him?

“I’m so sorry, Draco, I…” Potter stopped and pulled a face. He also must have noticed how weird the name sounded in his mouth. He shook his head. “I skidded on the-“

“Patch of ice, right,” Draco tried to quirk an eyebrow but even that was sore. “I saw it, and believe it or not, _I_ succeeded in avoiding it.”

Draco straightened on his elbow. His head was spinning and he felt a strange hotness on his face. He reached for his nose and “HOLY FUCK!”

Potter cringed. “Do you want me to look?”

Draco closed his eyes and nodded. Cold fingers raised his chin and he gritted his teeth in anticipation, but no touching came.

“Yeah, I think it’s broken.”

“Fantastic.” Draco scowled and Potter bit his bottom lip. Draco had never noticed, but Potter had oddly pointy canines.

“Look, there’s no one around to see, do you want me to try and fix it?” Potter gesticulated and  rudely jostled Draco. Draco took a moment to get the measure of their situation. There were out of the piste, more or less buried in the snow. Merlin, Draco was glad his Impervius Charm was stronger than his Warming one because otherwise his arse would be properly frozen right now. Potter was sitting on the ground and Draco was, well, spread over Potter’s legs. Potter who was holding him tight. Potter who was now pointing his wand at him.

Draco considered the idea. He was brilliant at healing charms of course, but there was absolutely no chance he could fix his nose without a mirror. “Alright.” He took a deep breath. “There’s a spell to mend broken bones-“

“-I know,” Potter cut. “Brackium Emendo,” he said with a grin.

Draco startled and shook his head in panic. The spell was meant to make bones disappear. And he certainly, definitely didn’t want for his nose to disappear. He had known a noseless guy once and _that_ wasn’t a look he wanted on _his_ face.

He tried to mumble that no, that wasn’t the spell he was looking for, but was stopped by the glimpse of playfulness in Potter’s eyes.

He blinked.

Draco mentally cursed himself. What a fool, of course Potter would try to mock him in a such situation. Relieved, he started to laugh but the vibration went directly to his sinus. He pulled a face.

Potter gave him a crooked smile and Draco’s heart skipped a beat. He really must have lost a lot of blood.

“Okay…” Potter gently touched Draco’s cheek as if he was estimating the damage.

“Just do it, Potter.”

The plonker bit his lower lip as he focused. “Episkey!”

Draco felt a painful jolt spreading from his nose, but before he could yelp, everything was over. He let his head fall onto Potter’s lap. Warily, he reached for his nose and felt, well, his nose. And a lot of sticky warm fluid.

Following his gaze, Potter cast a Scourgify on both of them.

“Well,” Draco raised an eyebrow, “how do I look?”

“As handsome as ever.” Potter grinned.

Handsome? Draco smirked and Potter’s face reddened.

“Alright,” Draco awkwardly got to his feet. He looked around and saw his skis a good three hundred feet up. “Fuck.”

Potter followed his gaze. “Do you want me to fetch them?”

Amazed, Draco quirked both eyebrows. “I’m enchanted you’ve proposed, Potter,” He reached for his wand in his ski boots and gave Potter a sly grin. “But I think I can handle it.”

He accioed both his skis, and put them on with Potter’s help.

Draco grinned. “Although I quite enjoyed the cuddle, Potter,” as planned, Potter blushed even harder, “try to watch out this time, okay?” He blinked. Merlin, he loved making Potter feel uncomfortable.

Every muscle of his body was sore, but he managed to go down the slope without harm. The whole time, he thought about Potter’s arms around him.

Merlin, he was doomed.

Once at the foot of the piste, Potter hurtled past Draco and only threw himself down in front of a terrace. Draco was right, the guy didn’t know how to stop!

Slowly, Draco joined him and recognised his fellow eighth years, comfortably settled at the terrace.

“Hey you,” Granger trumpeted, “We were beginning to worry!”

She took a look at Potter and turned to Draco with a glint in her eye. Draco followed her gaze and, Holy Hell, the beany!

Hopefully she was the only one who had seen it, he thought as he removed it. He grumbled and skated towards Potter, then handed him the hat back.

“Oh, thanks,” Potter looked up at him and tried to suppress a laugh. “Actually, you may wanna keep it.”

Draco raised a hand. Merlin, Potter was right. His hair was wrecked. There was no way he could fix it without a mirror. And he would rather be eaten alive by Muggles than be seen with his hair in that state. Between two Bludgers, his choice was made.

“Right,” he scowled, “Just so you know, you’re gonna pay for this.”


	2. Chapter 2

“May I have your attention, please?” Granger squeaked.

Potter didn’t look up from his conversation with Patil One. They were laughing at some joke Draco couldn’t hear. The sound Potter made, half bark, half mewing was absolutely irritating. And honestly what was all that neck display about? Draco could practically see his Adam’s apple throbbing as he jerked his head back.

The Weasel was still standing on the couch, demonstrating for the thousandth time his fall from his own skis by means of grunts and very few words. Daphne, Theo, Macmillan, Patil Two and Longbottom were laughing, watching the immature display.

Abbott was still occupying the armchair that mirrored Draco’s across the room, except that she was sitting straight, ankles crossed when Draco’s legs were casually spread on the back and armrest. Draco rolled his eyes at the sight. The poor girl was obviously mooning over Longbottom, who hadn’t even given her a single glance in an hour.

Goldstein and Blaise were still engaged in an Accio duel over the Muggle lamp. Blaise seemed to have taken advantage at last, good for him. Draco didn’t know what exactly the cable was for, but Hyperion kept playing catch with it. Not everyone knew that some Muggle devices had something called _electricity_ in them, but Draco knew it could do as much damage as a good Incendio and he sincerely hoped his cat was safe.

The Noisiest-Person-in-the-Room Reward went with no contest to Millicent, who was actively commenting and cheering on Finnigan and Thomas who were each at one end of the staircase, hexing one another. How they could not freak the hell out confronted with this laughing, clapping and groaning Millicent was far beyond Draco.

All-in-all, it was a merry chaos.

It felt like the Gryffindor common room. Not that Draco had ever been in the Gryffindor common room, thank you very much.

Unsurprisingly, no one had noticed Granger’s call for attention.

Draco shrugged and resumed his previous activity, i.e. enjoying the comfort of his armchair. And not trying to listen to Potter’s conversation at all.

Suddenly, the room went dark behind Draco’s closed eyelashes. There was a bang and then flashes of coloured lights. The room went quiet.

Granger hissed fiercely, “Could you please stop acting like utter baboons for a minute and listen to me, or is that too much to ask?”

Draco felt compelled to sit properly in his armchair.

Still scowling around, Granger activated a silvery thing and the room was filled with light again.

“Hey! Is that my-“ Weasley started.

“Yes, Ronald,” she gave him a death stare. “Now be an angel and shut up.”

So he did. He was still ridiculous, standing on the couch with one foot on the backrest, his lanky arms hanging goofily, but at least he was quiet and _that_ was a good change.

“Hmf, so,” Granger stroked her mane of hair. “What I meant to say is… We’re supposed to be taking a Muggle holiday, right?” There were nods and she continued, “But we’ve been using a lot of magic since we got back to the chalet. So Terry and I had an idea…”

Boot took over. “What about if we left our wands in this box,” he pointed towards the case Granger was holding, “for the rest of the stay, so we can enjoy our holidays the Muggle way?”

Everyone started to talk and protest at the same time. Finnigan jumped down the staircase whilst Weasley threw himself on his knees in a very melodramatic way.

Uncomfortable, Draco gritted his teeth.

After everyone had expressed his point of view in various ways, Granger spoke loudly. “Oh, come on, that won’t kill you!” She scanned the room. “Just think about it, okay?”

There were some silent exchanges.

“How are we going to cook?” Daphne asked after a few moments.

Granger’s eyes widened and she put the back of her hand on her forehead. “Oh, gee I didn’t think about it, seeing that Muggles _do not eat_.” Draco couldn’t suppress a laugh.

Macmillan raised his hand and asked “What about cleaning our clothes?”

“Funny you’ve mentioned it, because Muggles have something called laundry. I’m glad you’ve volunteered.”

“But what are we going to _do_?”

“Well, for once, we are going to do the chores, we have to do the laundry, the shopping, we have to cook, tidy up the chalet, prepare the rooms, make the beds-“

“Make the beds? I’m not a house elf!”

“Oh for god’s sake, Blaise!” Granger rolled her eyes. “And after that, well,” she continued. “I’ve brought some board games we could play.”

Her proposition was received with more than a few sceptical looks.

“So, do we agree?”

“Wait.” Draco rose to his feet. “What about safety?” He looked around. He wasn’t pleased to be forced to spend five nights with a bunch of Gryffindors _unarmed_. “What if someone comes and tries to kill us all?”

Granger’s smile faded when she caught glimpse of Draco’s scowl. “I intended to ward the chalet before we all go to bed.”

Draco nodded. “If I may add,” he saw Potter unsubtly rolling his eyes, “There’s no way I won’t take my wand with me when we go skiing tomorrow. I want to be able to prevent any further attempt on my life.” He scowled towards the annoying prat who had the good sense to blush and look away.

Granger took a moment to think about it and nodded. “What if we put our wands in the box when we are in the chalet, but we take them with us when we leave? How does that sound?”

After everyone had agreed, Granger came to gather the wands. Draco considered cheating but before he could think of a way, she was holding out the box to collect his wand. Reluctantly, he put it down in the box with great trepidation.

Once all the wands were in the box, she made them promise not to open it without her approval. Once satisfied, she closed the box and headed towards the massive sideboard by the entrance. The furniture looked more practical than ornamental, with its bare doors and thick surfaces. Of course, it was mismatched with the rest of the furniture and clashed horribly with the dark pine the walls were made of. Draco wondered how one could have such bad taste in decoration. Even Hogwarts was better arranged.

Now that Granger had put the box on display on the sideboard - honestly, it looked as though she was just waiting for Draco to try and get his wand back when no one was looking - she started to divide up tasks. Naturally, she paired him with Potter and she assigned them the shopping. Although Draco was pleased with the task she had given him, he couldn’t say the same about the imposed company.

“Harry can handle the money.” She gave him an envelope. “And Draco, you speak French, right?” Draco nodded and wore a smug smile when he caught Potter’s surprised expression. Granger handed Draco a shopping list.

After very specific and boring instructions, she shooed them away with a wave.

They walked in silence. Draco was enthralled by the view. The village was composed of little wood chalets, each one lovelier than the last. Every house or so seemed to have a shop downstairs, every storefront was a showcase for whatever the shop was selling. Come to think of it, the main road reminded Draco of Hogsmeade. He saw a green cross flashing at the roof of a shop and thought that maybe Muggles weren’t _that_ far from Wizards. After all, Diagon Alley was full of this kind of luminous advertising.

Potter must have followed his gaze, because he said out of nowhere, “The green cross means the shop is a pharmacy.” Encouraged by Draco’s sharply questioning look, he continued. “It’s a place where you can buy medicines. It’s like Muggle potions, for when they are sick…”

He kept on talking about _drugs_ and _doctors_ and _welfare scheme_ but Draco had stopped listening. Not that he wasn’t interested because, really, he was. He just couldn’t focus on whatever came from those lips. The passionate way Potter talked made Draco’s mind freeze.

After a few minutes, they saw the _Carrefour_ sign emerge behind the wooden houses.

“The way the sign is lighted, is it electricity?”

Of course, Draco already knew that, he just wanted Potter to keep talking.

Potter grinned as he held the door for Draco to pass.

The inside was very bright, and it took Draco several minutes to get used to it. Then, he took out Granger’s list and couldn’t help a small surprised noise. “Is Granger always this organised?”

Potter looked at the list and laughed. “Yeah. That’s her thing.”

The items on the list were organised by departments. Every one of them had a justification and recommendations. It was too bad Draco didn’t have his quill because he was eager to check the tiny boxes each item was associated with. “Brilliant.”

Potter took a red shopping basket that rolled on the floor and grinned. “So, where does Hermione suggest we begin?”

They divided up tasks: Draco read the instructions to Potter, who drove the basket, ran, jumped, fetched the food in the various departments and talked, talked, talked. Once or twice, Draco thought about assisting a little more. In fact, he could have helped the dark-haired man to fetch the ham at the top of the shelf. But, hey, it wasn’t his fault Potter’s jumper had risen and revealed a few inches of skin, right?

The first thing Draco grabbed in the shelves fell on the floor when Potter slapped his hand. “It’s not on the list!”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “You want me to discover Muggle culture or not?”

Potter grumbled but didn’t stop Draco as he shoved several packets of Muggle sweets in the basket.

In return, Potter had insisted they try the saucisson -which wasn’t on the list _either_ \- and Draco had accepted as an act of grace, because, really, that’s who he is. And also because Draco was quite sure he couldn’t refuse anything from those damn green eyes.

“ _Et voilà_.” Potter did a ridiculous gesture and - Merlin help Draco - bowed. “We’re done.”

“I don’t think so.” Draco slowly shook his head. “ _These_ ,” he waved towards the sodas in the basket, “are not grown up drinks.”

“We’re not supposed to-“

Draco smirked.

“You heard McGonagall! _Hogwarts funds are not for alcohol_!”

“Please, you sound like Granger, where is your sense of fun?” Draco emphasized the question with a fake faint.

Somehow it seemed to work. Draco didn’t need to ask twice and followed Potter as he walked decisively towards the alcohol shelves.

“Great, so, there’s neither Butterbeer nor Firewhisky. What do we take?”

“Easy,” Draco shrugged, “We ask someone.”

A few minutes later they were queuing up at the _checkout_ , loaded with several bottles of Pinot Gris.

“When did you learn to speak French?” Potter mumbled.

He didn’t know what got into Potter; a few minutes back he had been obviously having fun and now he was scowling over his armful of vegetable and cheese. He shoved the thought away.

“Well, unlike some of us, I had an education.” He smirked.

Potter snorted and didn’t answer. He handled the money and Draco heaped the food into _plastic bags_.

“ _Merci et bonne soirée_ ,” he greeted the checkout assistant when they grabbed the tons of bags full of their purchases. Draco rolled his eyes; that made no sense at all. They could Apparate back to the chalet or at least Leviosa the bags. Instead, they were carrying fifteen pounds each, like silly… Well. _Muggles_. Draco bit his lip at the thought. He had enjoyed every Muggle thing he did today. He had to stop thinking that way about Muggles, he knew it. _Old habits die hard, like they say._

They walked carefully on the paved road without talking.

Until…

“Are you gay?”

“I beg your pardon?” Draco almost dropped his bags.

“I’m sorry,” Potter blushed. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Draco frowned and let a few seconds past. “Why do you ask?”

“Sorry, it’s just,” Merlin, it looked like all Potter’s blood was rushing to his face. “I saw the way you spoke to the staff guy this morning and then the wine bloke and the cashier chick and in fact you’re always charming towards everyone and you’re sending mixed signals and I just wondered, is all.”

“Mixed signals?”

Draco couldn’t believe his ears. Potter had been the one fooling around with Draco all morning, leading Draco to fantasise about what was obviously a bunch of nonsense. Then, once they had joined the others, Potter had started to pretend Draco didn’t exist. Merlin, he hadn’t even reacted when the Gryffindors had mocked Draco over the hideous hat he was wearing! Draco was utterly exhausted by trying to follow the prat’s twists of mind. And now _Draco_ was the one giving mixed signals. The irony.

Wait.

_Did he say charming?_

“As it happens” Why had he said that? “Not that it’s any of your business, but” Oh Merlin, why did his mouth keep talking and where was this going? “Yes.”

There.

It was said.

It wasn’t as if a lot of people didn’t already know. It was one thing to come out of the closet to your friends in the comfort of Hogwarts’ dungeons, but it was completely another to lay yourself bare in front of your _stupid crush_.

Potter’s chapped lips quivered. “Good. I mean- Not good that you are… But, you know-“

_Eloquent as ever._

“I’m glad you told me.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

He didn’t ask back.

During the rest of the walk to the chalet, Draco tried really hard not to think. Because otherwise, he would have wondered what Potter had in mind. And letting his imagination run free hadn’t done him any good in the past. He also avoided looking at the way Potter was holding the four shopping bags in his muscular arms. He did not picture himself in said arms either. Definitely not.

They hadn’t even crossed the doorstep before they were attacked by Hyperion, Abbott and Goldstein. The first two tore the bags off their arms and ran to the kitchen. The third one began to rub around Draco’s ankles. Potter had removed his _beany_.

After making himself comfortable and putting his wand back in the box, Draco grabbed his cat, who gladly curled up in his arms.

While scratching Hyperion’s ears, Draco could hear Abbott and Goldstein arguing in the kitchen. There were definitely noises coming from upstairs, but at least the living room was calm.

Finnigan and Thomas were in the middle of a heated but quiet conversation on the couch. Draco pricked up his ears. He always enjoyed a good lovers’ quarrel.

“Harry! Draco!” Granger entered the room. “I’m glad you’re back! We assigned the rooms while you were gone!”

_Please, anything but Potter._

She grinned and walked toward them. “Harry you’ll be with Nev, and-”

Potter’s head jerked up. “I thought I was going to be with Ron!”

“Yes, but no.” Granger blushed violently and tried to compose herself. “Actually, he’ll be with me.”

“Yeah, they took the biggest room!” Finnigan groaned from the couch. Draco was positive he heard Thomas add ‘ _selfish_ _assholes’_.

“Well,” she rolled her eyes, “since this is the only room to have a double bed,” she punctuated with a sigh, “it just seems fair for the only couple to have it.”

_Seriously? What did she want, a placard?_

Draco shook his head in disbelief and followed Granger and Potter up the staircase.

Granger stopped at the first floor and pointed towards the first room. “This is your room, Harry. I think Nev already claimed the bed under the window.”

When Potter opened the door, Hyperion jumped from Draco’s arms and ran and hid under the bed.

Granger laughed heartily and grabbed Draco’s arm. “And this,” she pointed after she had led him through the hallway, “is your room, Draco.”

Draco nodded in acknowledgment and she continued “This is the smallest room of the chalet, but it’s also the only one that is single.”

“Why, Granger…” Draco had lost his voice. “I really appreciate it.”

“Well, maybe you’ll finally start calling me Hermione, now,” she grinned and left. She stopped after a few paces and added with a mischievous smile, “And don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”

Puzzled, Draco started to unpack absent-mindedly.

That wasn’t the first nice thing Granger had done for him recently. In fact, she had been nothing but cordial from the start of the term and was beginning to feel… friendly. Oddly enough, Draco was fine with it.

As a matter of fact, Granger hadn’t been the only one to act awkwardly kind to Draco lately. Draco tried unsuccessfully to recall the moment Potter and him had stopped being simple acquaintances to become… whatever they were now. Because, even though they had had quite a few talks lately, they definitely hadn’t talked about childhood and sexuality before. That was new.

 _New was nice_ , Draco decided as he left the room.

Downstairs, he found a bunch of excited wizards gathered around a weird looking cauldron. He leaned against the kitchen doorframe.

“Brilliant! I reckon I can brew Pepper-up in it!”

“Yeah, as if it won’t explode that way!”

“But what is it made in?”

“The inside looks like cast iron, but I don’t know about the outside.”

“It’s purple!”

“I’m quite sure we can all see that, you dimwit!”

“It’s plastic, I’ve told you-”

“-Yeah, so why is it purple, in this case?”

Boot let out a dramatic groan and drew back. “You try something,” he grumbled to Granger and Thomas, “They don’t even let me _talk_.”

Eager to learn, Draco stepped forward.

After Millicent and Finnigan had finished deciding whether it was more resistant than a pewter cauldron, Thomas took part. “Guys! It’s a fondue set. Like Terry told you, it’s kinda like a self-warming cauldron, but for food only. Muggles use it to boil oil or chocolate. We’re gonna melt cheese in it, and eat it from bread on a pic.”

“That’s the dinner? Melted cheese and bread?”

“Well, yes. The fondue is a French dish Muggles use to eat in winter.” Granger recited. “But don’t worry, we also have a salad for those who like to eat healthy.”

“And _saucisson_!”

Daphne snorted loudly and derisively and Draco couldn’t help but agree. They were about to eat directly from the dish, for fuck’s sake. Muggles were barbaric.

Some time later, they were all bunched up around the cauldron, and Draco had to admit the fondue wasn’t half as bad as he had expected.

Draco wasn’t a big fan of melted cheese but he appreciated the conviviality of the thing. The room was hot, everyone was laughing and chatting, and Draco felt part of something. Besides, and without knowing how he had got there, he was sitting next to Potter, who had to bend over Draco every time he soaked the bread, which seemed to be more often than anyone else in the room.

And, even if it wasn’t elf-made, the wine was decent enough, and suited the dish just fine.

The one time Draco and Potter bent at once, they engaged a fierce pic-fight. Somehow, the Gryffindor won and Draco’s pic ended up breadless.

“Forfeit!” Granger exclaimed.

“What? I didn’t-“

“You’ve lost your piece of bread! You have to give Harry a forfeit!”

“She’s right, Malfoy, it’s a tradition.” Boot added with a serious nod.

This was followed by five minutes of heated debate over what forfeit he would have to pay, until Potter claimed he should be the one to choose the forfeit, given that he was the one against whom Draco had lost.

“Exactly! I haven’t lost it on my own! And I wasn’t even aware of that stupid tradition whereas Potter obviously was!”

Potter’s cheeks reddened. Oh. _Oh_.

Draco took the bait. “I request we replay the snitch.”

Potter smirked. “What do you suggest?”

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “A one-on-one.”

Potter choked over Draco’s choice of words. “What do you mean?”

“A race. You and I, tomorrow, on the ski run. The loser pays a forfeit.”

Slowly, a smile drew on Potter’s lips.

When they shook hands, Draco caught sight of Granger’s gleeful expression.

Afterwards, other pieces of bread were lost in the cauldron but forfeits were due right away. Once Weasley had sung Celestina Warbeck’s newest hit while standing on the table, Granger called it quits.

They cleared the table together and since there was wine left, they decided they weren’t tired enough to go to bed. Instead, they agreed to play one of Granger’s board games.

It took a few rounds for all of them to get accustomed to the mechanics of the game. The teamwork wasn’t exactly natural.

At the third round, the timer found Patil Two disheartened as her teammates didn’t guess the answer despite her efforts.

“They’re just a bunch of idiots, Pad. It was obviously an Apparition,” her sister reassured her.

Well, too bad Patil One was on _Draco_ ’s team.

As the game went on, there was more and more laughing and less and less sulking.

“This is genius, Millicent,” Granger gaped.

She had drawn a snake, an eagle, a badger and a lion in an exact replica of the Hogwarts crest, more detailed even than Draco’s pocket watch. It was indeed brilliant.

“Okay, so this one is an _All Play_. That means each team has to choose a drawer and you’ll have to guess the same word as quickly as you can, alright?”

Draco’s team picked Abbott. Thomas and she approached the two white boards Granger had brought in her pearl bag. They took note of the card and shared an amused look.

“Ready?” They both grabbed one of the _markers_ and nodded, “Go!” Granger called.

Draco didn’t know who to look at. On one hand, Thomas was drawing a beautifully detailed whatever-it-was-becoming and on the other hand, Abbott had already drawn a creature with big ears and eyes, a weird outfit-

“A house elf!” Draco shouted.

Draco felt warm as his team -including Potter- cheered him. However, all of them forgot him when Finnigan called out, “Sorry you lost, sweetheart!”

Draco smirked when he saw Thomas grinning like he had won all the games in the world.

Against all odds, Draco was enjoying himself. Not that he was ready to admit that.

“Merlin’s fucking tits, you weren’t supposed to draw the actual brewing of the potion,” Daphne groused after Boot’s performance.

“Mate, did you really expect us to figure out that _that_ was a moonstone? And, oh my god, is it _pearl’s dust_?” Finnigan put in two knuts.

“You try it next time!” Boot defended himself.

“Well, for a start I would have drawn a _heart_ , you idiot!”

This game actually was a piece of fun.

Draco straightened on his cushion when Potter was picked to fight the next All Play.

“Ready Harry, Blaise?” Both men nodded and Granger said, “go!”

“A wand!” Draco shouted.

“What the hell?” Blaise jerked towards Potter’s board. There was a single line. “How did you guess with _that_?” Blaise, who had been faster than Potter, had drawn a poor attempt at a hand.

Draco shrugged casually. “I just thought it was obvious.”

And the game went on.

Once Longbottom had figured out his team wasn’t about to guess the drawing way, he started to mime his Basilisk. That made Abbott pee in her pants, and even though Granger didn’t grant the point, he was beaming.

All too soon, it was Draco’s turn to draw.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Of course, Granger had to put _this_ in the cards. And of course, it had to fucking fall on Draco.

He uncapped the marker and drew a lightning bolt.

“Lightning bolt!”

“Flash!”

“Storm-“

“Thunder-“

“Firebolt!”

Draco turned slowly. Potter had risen to his feet, finger pointed towards the board, and was wearing a very smug face. The utter moron. Draco spoke slowly. “Does this,” he gestured towards the board, “look like a broom to you?” He quirked _the_ eyebrow.

Potter’s face became suddenly very red. He mumbled something Draco couldn’t hear and sat.

Draco scowled at Granger, who seemed all too pleased with herself, and began to draw.

He could do it with his eyes closed - his History of Magic parchments could confirm that. Once he had drawn the round spectacles and added a mess on the head, he turned to face his team.

When Goldstein gave the right answer, Draco’s face felt very hot.

“Holy shit, Malfoy, it’s an uncanny likeness!” Draco was too busy trying not to make eye contact with anyone to know which of the girls had shouted that.

And then, “Why the fuck am I wearing an earring?”

Startled, Draco looked at the sketch. Without thinking about it, Draco had indeed added his fantasy earring on doodle-Potter’s ear.

If there was a hole right there, Draco would gladly jump into it.

He couldn’t remember how he got back to his spot and didn’t pay attention to the following rounds.

“Okay, this is the last card, and” Granger prolonged the last syllable as she looked at the score. “you’re even.” She grinned. “Hence, this is the match point.”

When Finnigan and Weasley began to draw, everyone started to shout all at once.

“A square!”

“A box!”

“A wizard!”

“A fire!”

“A strange looking guy who needs a haircut!”

“A house!”

“Hufflepuff common room!”

“Dragon Pox!”

“The wards!”

“Seriously, Finnigan, why does he look like that?”

“A fireplace!”

“A chimney!”

“The Floo!”

“YES! YES, YES,” Weasley shouted.

“No, wait, it’s not that” Granger stopped him.

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Ron, it’s not just ‘Floo’, the answer is incomplete,” Granger said with a shaking voice.

“Floo Network!” Daphne shouted.

Draco rose along with his teammates and joined the cheering.

Maybe it was the win. Maybe it was the fact that the Weasel had kicked a cushion and was now sulking away. Maybe it was the huge grin on Potter’s face. Maybe it was all of the above, but anyway Draco felt the urge to _hug_.

He refrained, obviously.

Once they had finished the wine and were done banging on about the best moments of the game, Finnigan rose and said, “I’m off to bed, guys, I’m wrecked.”

Thomas mumbled something before following him upstairs and with that, they all decided to call it a night.

As soon as he heard Draco’s footsteps in the hallway, Hyperion snuck out of Potter’s room and followed Draco towards his room.

A few moments later, lying on his bed, Draco replayed the day in his head. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow to come. He was looking forward to skiing again. Possibly with Potter.

“scrssh-”

He closed his eyes.

“scrssh- scrssh-”

“Hyp’, stop!”

The scratching didn’t stop.

Resigned, Draco rose and listened carefully. No one seemed to be hanging about the hallway. He shrugged and stepped out of his room.

As quietly as possible, he went down stairs and reached for the box on the sideboard.

“Alright Hyp’, you’d better enjoy!”

Back on his bed, he cast the light charm his cat liked to hunt.

 

 

❅ ❅ ❅

 

 

Draco had had a nice night of sleep. His body wasn’t aching anymore.

 _He really ought to thank Hermione for the single room_ , he thought as he finished styling his hair in the bathroom mirror.

After being sure no one was around, he discreetly put his wand back in the box and joined the other early risers in the kitchen.

When he entered the room, Daphne gulped in her tea and Blaise erupted into laughter.

Between two giggles, Weasley stretched out his hand to Finnigan. “Cough up, mate!”


	3. Chapter 3

“What the actual fuck, Granger?”

“I swear, Draco, I didn’t know it would do that,” she bit her bottom lip.

“You didn’t-“ Draco closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Fix it.”

“I don’t know how,” she said with a shaking voice.

“You find a fucking way!” shouted Draco.

His traitorous eyes were filling with tears. He crossed his arms and turned to look through the window. He wasn’t going to offer them another excuse to make fun of him.  _The fucking bastards_.

Draco heard footsteps leaving then coming back in the kitchen followed by the sound of something landing heavily on the table.

“What do you mean you didn’t know it would do that?” He heard Weasley whisper.

“Well, it was just supposed to embarrass the target in some way,” she answered. “I should have known better. _George_  taught me the spell.” She emphasised the name, as if she was mad at him.  _As if he was the one who had cast the fucking curse._

“Remind me to thank him.” The Weasel laughed. “Hairless Ferret Face, that’s an image for posterity.”

Granger didn't answer. There were sounds of a page turned every now and then, coupled with irritating noises of giggles.

_For Salazar’s balls, if Draco heard another stupid snigger again, he would-_

“Good morn-”

Draco closed his eyes as he heard the deep but soft voice he could recognize from among thousands.

“What the hell, Malfoy! What happened?”

Potter sounded concerned. He looked concerned. He didn’t look as if he was about to make fun of Draco. Maybe Draco wouldn’t have to threaten to hex him like he had with the others. “Granger happened.” He scowled at her.

“Well, it’s his own fault,” she insisted with her irritating know-all voice, not looking up from her massive book. “He broke the wand rule.”

“I told you she’d curse the box, mate!” The Weasel’s face broke into a dumb grin.

Draco didn’t catch what Potter had mouthed to Weasley, but it had the merit of shutting him up.

“Are you searching for a counter-curse?” Potter raised both eyebrows and bent forward to read over her shoulder.

“Yes, why?” Granger raised her head for the first time since Draco had turned around. “Do you know one?”

Potter bit his lip. As ever, that was an interesting sight, but Draco wasn’t in the mood. At all. “Well, not exactly.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“But I did grow my hair magically quite a few times when I was younger.”

He made a few steps towards Draco and looked him over earnestly.

“I can try, if you want.”

Potter was wearing the snitches pattern pyjama bottoms Draco was far too familiar with for his peace of mind. He had put on a red jumper with a knitted golden H in the middle. Ridiculous. He was looking expectantly to Draco. How could he expect a clever answer from Draco when wearing this hideous get-up?

Draco forced his gaze away.

On one hand, he would much prefer an official spell found in an official book. On the other hand, Granger hadn’t found said spell yet. And spontaneous magic was usually harmless. In the worst case scenario, nothing would happen. He might as well give it a try.

“Alright.” He said before clenching his jaw.

Potter nodded and came closer.

“But I warn you, if you grow me that kind of hair,” he pointed towards Potter’s nest, “I’ll kill you in your sleep tonight.”

Potter barked. “Don’t worry, I’m quite sure it’s a genetic touch.” And he  _winked_. Holy fuck.

He put both - _hot_ \- hands on Draco’s head and closed his eyes.

Draco had never seen his scar from that close before. It wasn’t as ugly as Draco had always claimed it was. A thin bright line, nothing more. Draco was surprised to see that it wasn’t the only flaw on Potter’s skin. There were freckles on both cheekbones he had never noticed before and a mole right under the corner of his mouth. He had thin stubble against which Draco felt the need to rub. He also had a little bright scar right above his top lip. Draco wondered what childhood memory was connected to the scar. He hoped it was a happy one.

When Potter began to bite his lip, Draco had to force his eyes away from the other man’s busy mouth.

Potter was frowning. His eyelashes were trembling against his glasses and Draco wanted to throw them away. Those lashes deserved to be free. They deserved to be honoured. To be kissed.

Merlin, what was  _wrong_  with him?

Suddenly, green eyes were looking at him and time stopped.

Draco had never, ever, been so close to Potter before. He had never noticed the golden stars in the emerald pools. He could swim in these pools. He wished he could die in these pools.

They were the most expressive eyes Draco had ever seen in his entire life. And right now he could read surprise.

Slowly, they began to sparkle.

Potter was smiling a crooked smile, bottom lip held back by a sharp canine.

There was red all over his cheeks.

Draco wanted to lick every square inch of it.

He almost yelped when Potter’s hand left his temples.

He blinked several times and became aware of his surroundings again. Potter had stepped back and was smirking at him, a mischievous glint in those deep green eyes.

Granger was currently gawping at him. Draco saw Weasley shrug out of the corner of his eye.

“Well? How did it go?”

Potter and Granger looked at each other.

“Brilliantly.” Potter said.

“So why don’t you look like it?” Draco was starting to worry. Obviously, something had gone wrong, but he couldn’t muster the resolve to reach for his hair –or lack thereof.

Potter bit his lip again. “It’s perfect.”

Draco raised a dubious eyebrow.

“Honest!” Potter nodded several times in a row.

Draco started to examine the possibilities. Maybe his hair wasn’t its usual colour. Perhaps Potter’s guess had been wrong and he had actually grown him messy black hair. Oh Lord, anything but Granger’s hair. Or Maybe he had messed up his hairline. What if he had a widow’s peak? Salazar, what if he had irrevocable baldness on top of his head?

He left the room quickly - not without jostling the Weasel on his way - and ran to the same mirror in which he had had the nightmarish sight moments ago.

His jaw dropped.

Potter. Had. Given. Him. Fucking. Shoulder-length. Hair.

“What the heck Potter?” He shouted.

Alerted by the sound, Draco’s housemates had gathered at the living room’s door, to where they had been banished a few minutes earlier.

Potter was leaning against the other door and grinning like an utter moron.

“Holy shit, Draco!” Daphne exclaimed.

He pictured her in a cupboard with a Blast-Ended Skrewt.

“Why, Dray, don’t you like it?” Daphne beamed.

Draco clenched his jaw.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“For God’s sake, Draco,” Granger stepped forward and rolled her eyes. “Stop being a drama queen. It’s not like you can’t just cut it.”

“No!” Both Daphne and Potter cried.

What on earth was the matter with Potter?

“Don’t you fucking dare, Draco!”

“Well, there’s no way I’m keeping it like this.”

Draco couldn’t deny his hair was fucking beautiful. That wasn’t exactly breaking news. It always had been glossy in a gorgeous way. And this long version of it looked so strong and soft. But it was also straight and white blonde in a way that reminded him too much of someone he didn’t want to be mistaken for.

And if Daphne started to suggest he could tie it in a low ponytail, he would Avada Kedavra her. Right away.

But instead, she rolled her eyes and took Draco’s hand as she began to climb upstairs.

After what felt like hours, Draco mastered the bun, and he had to admit that it suited him just fine. He even quite liked the stylish messy version. Daphne had given him one of her green elastic bands and Draco found himself enjoying the new weight on his head.

He didn’t exactly recall how, between drying and straightening lessons, Daphne had managed to convince him, but he should have anticipated it, really. He had never been able to argue with Daphne. Merlin, sometimes Draco really missed Pansy.

He rather well liked what he saw in the mirror. He was still attractive but in a different way.  _In a manlier way._

“Salazar, Dray, you’re hot.” Daphne said in a low voice.

Draco laughed and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, dear.”

Potter’s reaction, when he joined the whole bunch of them in the living room was definitely worth it. Actually, Potter’s eager stare on him through breakfast was worth all the trouble in the world. So, what was a little bun, huh? He could live with a bun. And at least, that way he wouldn’t need a  _beany_  anymore.

 

❅

 

He was wrong.

He was so, so wrong.

Once they had reached the ski station, Draco’s Warming Charm had already worn off.

The temperature was far colder than the day before and Draco was freezing his arse off, with or without his new hairy addition. They hadn’t even put the skis on, not to mention took the butt-lift, and Draco already couldn’t feel the tips of his ears.

After an internal debate during which he had earnestly considered the merits of losing his ears and nose to the cold, he made up his mind.

“Potter, a word?”

Potter gave him a concerned look and followed him behind the closest chalet.

Draco imagined all the things he could do to Potter behind said chalet, in other circumstances.

Potter pulled him out of his daydream by quipping, “I hope you didn’t bring me here to kill me, Malfoy.”

How could someone be  _this fit_  and yet  _this annoying_?

“Not that the thought hadn’t occurred to me, Potter,” he quirked a cheeky eyebrow, “but I’m here for different matters, actually.”

Potter’s eyes were fixed intently on him. They stopped for a moment on his hair, and the prat bit his lip. Draco could see Potter’s breath in the cold air. He wondered if Potter’s lips were hot. Potter was barely a couple inches shorter than him, all he would have to do was bend forward, and press his lips against his…

Potter cleared his throat.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with my Warming Charms today, but they don’t last longer than a few minutes and… I’m cold.”

Potter blinked. Several times. “And you want me to…”he cleared his throat again. “You want me to warm… you?”

Draco’s mind went blank at the words.

“God, no! Of course not.” He looked at Potter with horror. He wouldn’t have said it that way. Would he? “But you did spend all of yesterday without your hat on, so I thought-”

“You want my beany again?” Potter proposed as if he didn’t really mean it.

“Not in my lifetime, thank you very much.” Draco sneered.

Potter rolled his eyes. “Then what?”

“Well, you bragged about your Warming Charm yesterday and I thought that, maybe, you could cast one on me. I mean, if it’s not too much to ask, of course.”

A smile appeared slowly on Potter’s face. “Are you asking me for a spell, Malfoy?” He asked mischievously. “What happened to my spellwork being a ‘freaking menace’?” He air-quoted stupidly.

Draco snorted. “Get over yourself, Potter.”

Potter laughed. “Come closer.”

“What? I’d rather not-”

“For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy, I’m out of sight, and you’re not.” He bent and took his wand out of his boot. “Come. Closer.”

Draco looked towards the resort. He could indeed see a few Muggles gathered in front of a ski rental chalet. He took a step forwards.

Potter took his time as he cast the spell on every piece of Draco’s clothing and finished by casting the spell straight onto his head.

A warm feeling spread throughout Draco’s body, and for once, that had nothing to do with the way Potter’s eyes were looking at him – through him.

Slowly, the sensations came back to his ears, nose and cheeks. He wasn’t feeling the cold bite of the air anymore. His skin was almost hot, even, like he was actually lazing in the sun instead of freezing his nuts off on a ski slope. Potter wasn’t bragging about his abilities. He was just stating the truth.

He straightened. “Well, thank you, Potter.”

Potter put his wand back in his ski boot and adjusted his glove. “You’re very welcome. That should hold on until the end of the day, but if it wears off earlier, come straight to me, okay?”

Draco nodded incredulously and led the way back.

He didn’t notice Granger’s suspicious glare as she handed him his Ski Pass.

 

❅

 

“Scared, Malfoy?”

“You wish!”

Potter laughed heartily and Draco’s heart skipped a few beats. The day had gone by without Draco realising it. He had enjoyed every single moment of it. They had split up in groups in the morning. Draco had chosen to join Potter, Daphne, Goldstein, Patil One and Longbottom.

Who was he kidding?

He had chosen to join Potter, full stop.

Anyway, he had found out that he quite enjoyed the company of the others as well, even Longbottom. The six of them were beginners but they all shared a certain boldness and a reckless interest in speed. They ended up descending more and more difficult runs and sharing more and more laughs. Draco had fallen more than once, but, really, everyone had.  _No falls no balls_ , they came to say each time. Draco still didn’t know if the Muggle saying was a way of teasing or if it held some sort of truth, but he had refrained from asking.

They had met the rest of their comrades for a picnic, and split up again for the afternoon. At the end of the day, Draco was exhausted, sore and utterly pleased.

And for the first time, he finally had Harry all to himself.

This was their last descent, and this time, it was a race.

“Ready?”

Draco nodded. “See you at the hospital wing, Scarhead,” he teased as he threw himself out onto the ski run at the same time as Potter.

He knew Potter wouldn’t bother to draw bends, so he had decided to go tout schuss. He had tried it a few times earlier that day and was quite confident. He would just go as fast as possible, and if something got in his way then  _it_  would just have to move aside.

He bent forward and stuck his poles under his armpits.

He had lost sight of Potter, and that could only mean one thing: he was ahead.

Draco grinned.

The ski run was clear enough, but he could see a kid from the corner of his eye. In order to prevent a crash, he leaned just a bit to his left, without changing his position. It made him turn slightly to the left and that was enough to avoid the kid.

_Wooosh._

Merlin, that was exhilarating.

The landscape was rushing past at high speed. Draco barely had the time to see each fir before it was already out of sight. The slope was running under his skis.

Draco was focused on avoiding the tracks on the snow. He had fallen once because of them and was determined not to repeat the incident.

He was so focused that the bump caught him completely by surprise.

He had attempted a few jumps before – and had failed almost all of them.

Before he could realise what was happening, he was in the air.

He tried to join his feet and extend his legs with limited success.

The landing went well enough, considering the speed. Luck was obviously on Draco’s side – as if Merlin himself wanted for him to win the race.

His almost fall, however, made him slow down a little as he tried to steady himself.

For the first time, he worried about Potter. What if he had fallen at the beginning? Taking advantage of his lowered speed, he turned his head.

That’s when Potter overtook him.

_Wooosh._

Draco heard Potter’s laugh in spite of the loud sound of the wind in his ears.

Potter was crouching on his snowboard and Draco couldn’t help but stare as the other man outdistanced him. When Draco realised he had lost the lead, Potter was already far ahead.

And, to add insult to injury, Potter managed a very fine jump before he crossed the finish line.  _Show off_.

Their friends assaulted the both of them as soon as Draco finished the race as well.

Quickly, Potter disentangled himself from Weasley’s embrace and bounced towards Draco. He was beaming.

“Well done, Malfoy!”

Draco took Potter’s outstretched hand and shook it. “Bravo, Potter.”

And then, without any warning whatsoever, Potter leaned forward and took Draco in his arm. In an awkward, weirdly angled and obviously friendly way. But yet. Potter was holding Draco in his arms. He could smell the sweet scent of Potter’s shampoo mixed with the musky savour of his sweat. He could feel the heat of his body.

Before he could return the hug, Potter was off. Draco cursed himself internally.

“So, Harry, have you picked Draco’s forfeit?”

Potter shrugged in an apparent casualness that didn’t fool Draco and said he would come up with something at some point.

 

❅

 

“Et un, et deux, et trois zéro!”

Muggles were shouting in French in the crowded bar. Irritated, Draco pursed his lips. He had volunteered to get the drinks and had been waiting for the past ten minutes. The bartender obviously wasn’t eager to serve him.

“Why are they yelling?” He asked the customer waiting alongside him in French.

“They’re watching the match,” the guy pointed toward what Draco had thought was an enchanted picture. But Muggles didn’t have enchanted pictures, they had…

“Is it a television?”

“Yes, dude.” The guy frowned in a concerned look and continued with disdain. “Do you live in a cave?”

Draco snorted. Who did he think he was? Stupid Muggle.

Once Draco had finally ordered his fifteen beers and had been dismissed by the bartender, he scanned the room in search of his classmates. He found them in a rather secluded corner. The only free spot was next to Potter, who was engaged in a conversation with Thomas. Draco’s friends clearly hadn’t bothered to hold a spot for him and were at the opposite side of the table, building what looked like a castle with beer mats.

“-in round sixteen against Argentina.”

Potter and Thomas were obviously talking about whatever match the Muggles were watching. Curious, Draco cut them off, “What  _sport_  is everyone watching, anyway?”

He had watched from the corner of his eyes during his wait, and hadn’t understood the principle.

“It’s called football, it’s kinda like the Muggle Quidditch.” Thomas answered him. He had taken a tone of voice that indicated he had explained the game before. “But with no brooms,” he continued.

“-nor Snitch, nor Bludger, and with only one goal for each team.” Potter interrupted him.

“No Snitch?” Draco called out.

“I know, right? I find it so weird now!” Potter said earnestly.

Thomas laughed. “And they aren’t allowed to touch the ball with their hands. Except for the goalkeeper…”

Draco listened to him talk about  _corner_ ,  _offside_  and  _penalty_  while he watched the television. The game looked absolutely boring, but if that was what Potter wanted to talk about, he may as well give it a try.

A few moments later, a waiter came to serve their drinks. Draco had followed the bartender’s suggestion and had ordered a Belgian blond beer for everyone.

“You definitely want to come to Muggle Dublin.” Finnigan licked his lips after his first sip. “ _They_  know how to brew a beoir.”

Draco snorted and returned his attention to the two Gryffindors on his right.

“If there is no snitch, when does the match stop?”

“There’s a regulation time. The match is meant to last ninety minutes, give or take the stoppage time,” replied Thomas.

That made no sense at all to Draco who nodded anyway. “Has it ever occurred that at the end of the game, neither team has scored a goal?”

Thomas laughed and started to explain the extra time and penalty shoot-out rules. Potter was looking at Draco with a sly smile during the whole exchange. There was nowhere in the world Draco would have preferred to be.

Suddenly, the whole bar rose and erupted into cheers. It must have had a connection with the match, but Draco wasn’t sure. He had been focused on the way Potter was biting his lower lip at the time.

“Et un, et deux, et trois zéro!”  _That song, again._

Draco leaned towards Potter and spoke loudly to cover the ambient noise. “Why does it look like they already know the final score?”

“It’s a repeat of a match from last summer. It was the Word Cup Final or something. I’m quite sure France won.” Potter informed him.

“Three-nil, according to the song. Now that’s starting to make sense.” Draco interrupted.

A few beers and fewer goals later, Draco knew a little more about football, and a lot more about Potter’s freckles.

The fourth round of beers made him startle as the waiter called his name. “Draco!”

Draco’s eyes widened as he tried to recall the face.

“I can’t believe you came,” the waiter said in a strong French accent, and Draco remembered: the cute staff guy from the resort. Somehow, Draco found him a lot less attractive than the day before.

He greeted him politely as he took his drink.

“Mind if I sit?” Charles asked. He didn’t even wait for Draco’s answer to grab a chair from another table.

Obnoxious. Draco waved in agreement,  _he_  knew his manners. “Please.”

“So, ‘ow ‘ave you been?”

Draco had been taught to hold a polite conversation since he was able to tell his salad fork from his fish fork. He let years of practice take over. “Quite alright, I must say. We’ve been skiing again today. What about you?”

“Oh, you know, ze usual.” The guy shook his head and apparently began to picture Draco naked in his head. “I didn’t know you ‘ad long hair, by ze way. It’s… sexy.”

Draco snorted.

The Muggle leaned forward and spoke in a husky voice. “Do you ‘ave plans for tonight?”

That’s when,  _thank Merlin_ , Potter stepped in. He took him by the shoulders and for a second, Draco’s mind went blank. Then he spoke fiercely. “He has. And tomorrow night as well.”

Startled, Charles straightened and blinked a few times before rising. “Alright, zen, I’ll leave you to it. Good bye, Draco.”

Draco definitely noticed that Potter had left his arms a little longer than necessary, but didn’t comment. Instead, he turned his head and thanked the man.

Potter’s freckles disappeared behind a lovely flush. “You didn’t look very comfortable with him, so…” He left the sentence unfinished and shrugged.

For once, Draco didn’t mention Harry’s ineloquence.

His brain was well too busy trying to process the information. Potter had been  _jealous_.

 

❅

 

“So, what did you think of football?”

The group was walking home in the snow-covered streets, laughing hard and talking loudly with an alcohol-induced casualness.

“Do you want the honest or the polite answer?”

Potter laughed heartily. “Let’s go for the honest one.”

“Well. First of all, it is rather a boring sport, as far as I’m concerned. We’ve spent an hour and a half watching guys running after a ball, and there were hardly  _four_  interesting moments.” Draco quirked an eyebrow to emphasise the number. “Plus, there is basically no suspense. At least in Quidditch you don’t know who is going to win the match until the very end.” Encouraged by the smile on Potter’s face, he continued. “And what is that thing about faking injuries, anyway?”

Potter laughed and leaned to whisper. “Don’t tell Dean I said that, but I totally agree.”

Draco had found a new purpose in life. Potter’s laugh was his new raison d'être. “And I think the game suffers from the lack of Bludgers. When someone has the ball, they can’t do a single thing except wait for him to fall on his own or miss the goals. If they try anything to stop him, they get the yellow card, it is absurd!”

“Oh, please, Malfoy!” Thomas rolled his eyes. Draco hadn’t noticed him approaching. “As if Quidditch is any better! When you get the Quaffle, you just have to shove it under your robes and fly to the goals.”

Potter and Malfoy exchanged a look and started to defend Quidditch at once.

 

❅

 

“You wouldn’t happen to carry a football pitch in this fancy bag of yours, Granger?”

Draco wanted to put a stop to the conversation. There was clear evidence that Thomas was a blinkered narrow-minded Muggle lover who didn’t understand the nuances of the subtle sport that was Quidditch, and Draco was tired of trying to make his point.

“I do not,” answered Granger. “But I do have a foot _ball._ ” She shrugged.

And that’s how Draco ended up playing fucking football in a fucking tiny snow-covered garden.

“For god’s sake, Malfoy, are you unable to keep a simple goal?”

Draco rolled his eyes. He was  _plenty_  able to keep the sodding goal, thank you very much. In fact, some of the goals had been rather difficult saves to screw up. Neither his teammates nor his opponents were any good at aiming for the fucking space between the two pairs of ski poles they had stuck in the snow. But it wasn’t his fault Thomas had declared they would play until one of the teams scored ten points, was it? One of the teams had to lose and Draco was determined to stop the game sooner rather than later.

“I’ll take over, you dweeb,” Thomas groaned with a scowl.

Well, at least there were only three points left.

His teammates didn’t even wait for him to reach the middle of their improvised pitch to put the ball into play again.

A very sweaty and red-faced Potter had the ball and was trying to pass through the line of Draco’s teammates. An entertaining hand-to-hand struggle ensued, which Potter lost in favour of Daphne.

Well, now Draco got to play  _that_  way as well. He wasn’t going to miss his cold goal all that much, after all.

It took Draco two more goals from the other team to really stretch his legs. He wouldn’t admit it to Thomas, but he was actually having fun. Running after the ball was sort of heady, and the snow wasn’t that bad.

“You’re hindering me, Malfoy,” groaned Potter.

“Well, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

It would have been very easy for Draco to either get the ball from Potter or just let him pass and score the last point, but somehow he didn’t want to. Potter had his hands on Draco’s shoulders and Draco was pushing onto Potter’s chest.

“Get out of my way,” Potter hissed between his teeth.

“I wouldn’t be a very good defender if I did, would I?” Draco smirked.

Potter looked at Draco’s mouth. He  _stared_  at his mouth.

Draco felt his smile fade slowly. He swallowed.

Potter’s eyes were smouldering.

Draco let out a shaky breath.

Potter’s tongue flicked between his parted lips and Draco couldn’t breathe anymore.

Potter leaned slightly forward. They were inches apart now, and Potter’s eyes were still fixed on Draco’s mouth. Almost as if…

Well, he would never knew if Potter had intended to kiss him, because at some point, they had both lost the ball, and Potter’s team had scored the final goal.

 

❅

 

Draco was busy contemplating the ceiling above his bed, when he heard the soft knock on his door.

It was Potter.

Potter was here. At his door. At one in the morning. Looking very hot, with Hyperion in his arms.

“I…” Potter cleared his throat. “Your cat was in my room. He kept scratching and I couldn’t sleep, and I thought that maybe-“ Potter swallowed, and his throat moved enticingly as he did. “Maybe he was missing you.”

When Draco took the cat from him, their fingers brushed. Draco shivered. He swallowed. Hard.

“Well, thank you then.” Draco didn’t know how he had managed to sound that confident.

They stood there for several painfully awkward moments. Draco had no clue on the etiquette, and Potter kept looking at his mouth. His mouth that went quickly very dry.

Maybe he could just lean forward and…

“I, erm-”Potter stroked the back of his neck and stepped back. Draco hadn’t noticed how close he had come. Shit, maybe he  _should_  have leaned forward. Maybe Potter had been hoping for him to do so. Shit, shit,  _shit_. “Good night, Draco.”

His name had never sounded that smooth before.

The raven-haired boy was long gone when Draco finally managed to reply, “Good night, Harry.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tradition, in France. When the chairlift stops - which is, to be honest, quite often - you have to sing. Half the time, you cope with bawdy songs, but the other half, it's [♫ Étoile des Neiges ♫](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC-Fb3JYLyI).  
> Basically, no one knows the lyrics except from the chorus, but it's fun anyhow. And there's even a bawdy version of it - of course there is!  
> 

“Bugger!”

It was the third time it happened, and even though the first two times had been brief, Draco had a bad feeling about this one.

Draco closed his eyes, trying hard to not think about the thirty feet of nothingness underneath him. Not think about the way the chairlift was rocking back and forth. Not think about Potter’s thigh close to his.

“You don’t like it, do you?”

“Huh?” Draco jerked, startled. Potter was looking at him expectantly.

“The height,” Potter pointed downwards, and Draco didn’t follow his gaze. He didn’t.  _Shit._

He clenched his jaw and shook his head. Dislike was actually an understatement but, not trusting his voice, he refrained from saying as much.

Instead, he fixed his gaze on a distant point in the snow-covered landscape. He tried not to look at Longbottom, who was busily swallowing Abbott’s face, in the chairlift before them, and focused on a skier at the top of the ski run. He was hurtling down the slope in large bends. Draco followed the skier throughout the whole downhill, until he passed right underneath him, and… Oh god. That wasn’t helping at all. Draco felt his chest tighten and clenched the metal bar in his fist.

“But you don’t have trouble flying a broom, do you?” Potter blurted out from nowhere.

Draco let out a croaky laugh and looked at the man to his left. “Not quite the same, Potter.”

It wasn’t the same at all, actually. On a broom, he was the master of his own movements, for once. He didn’t have to rely on these bloody Muggle chairs, to lift them along a fucking  _thin_  cable passing through those gears or whatever they were called. And he didn’t trust those fucking posts with his life. Surely, they weren’t large enough to carry all the chairs and all their passengers _and_ all their gear.

Draco’s breathing got sharper and faster as he followed the length of the post with his eyes.

“Did you always feel that way?”

Draco frowned. Why was Potter still talking? And why was he smiling this shy and lopsided smile? “I don’t know, Potter, it’s not as if I try and climb on these bloody Muggle chairs every three days.”

Potter chuckled for some reason and looked away.

In fact, Draco knew exactly where his fear of heights came from. But he wasn’t going to tell Potter about the Astronomy Tower, now was he?

Draco looked up at the blue sky. That he could do. And if it prevented him from weeping in front of Potter, all the better.

 _Fuck_ , why couldn’t they just get going again?

“You know you have nothing to worry about. The chair-lifts are solid, there are hardly any accidents.”

“For Merlin’s sake, it’s not like it’s a rational fear or something. It happens, full stop.”

Potter rolled his eyes, but didn’t wait long this time before continuing, “And you know if you fall, you could just cast an Arresto-“

“Potter, please, could you just stop? You’re really bad at this.”

“Stop what?” Potter smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “Talking. Whatever you’re trying to do. Preferably both.”

Potter’s crooked smile transformed into a grin as he shrugged casually, “Looks like it works just fine to me.” He nodded towards Draco’s hands.

Draco looked his hand and noticed that he had indeed released the bar from his clenched fist. Before he could explain that the fact had nothing to do with Potter’s intervention, they heard a rumble coming from behind them. They both turned their head at the same time.

The noise was coming from two blokes, a few seats behind them, yelling some indistinct song. Quickly, the other seats merrily joined the singing. Anyhow, the movement stopped at Draco and Potter’s seat.

“Sorry, mate, we don’t know the song,” Potter cried upwind.

Draco rolled his eyes.

 “What are they singing?” Potter asked.

Seeing the childish smile on Potter’s face, Draco couldn’t help but answer, because of course he had listened. “It’s a love song. The guy calls his girlfriend ‘Étoile des neiges’, it means Snow Star.”

“Could you translate the song?”

Draco’s eyes widened. What was Potter playing at? Did he really want Draco to sing him a love song?

“I’m – not sure…”

And then, Potter gave him a pouty look with his pouty eyes and his pouty lips and, oh god, how much Draco wanted to bite those lips. To prevent himself from doing anything stupid, Draco agreed “Alright, but I’m warning you, I’ll be missing some lines.”

The smile Potter gave him right then was priceless. Draco tried to ignore the funny twist in his stomach at the sight and started.

The task was as difficult as Draco had expected. The guy behind them was shouting his guts out rather than singing and Draco didn’t understand half of his gobbledegook, and even though some lines were repeated, translating along with the song was tough. He was, however, rewarded by Potter’s barks of laughter every now and then, so why would he stop, really?

Draco tried really hard not to blush as the words came out. “Étoile des neiges, my loving heart… has been entrapped, by your beautiful eyes. I give you this silver cross, as a token of my love, and I promise to love you every day of my life.”

Needless to say the look on Potter’s face told him he had failed miserably.

Potter’s own beautiful eyes scanned Draco’s face and lingered on his mouth.

Draco had stopped breathing. All he could hear was the loud sound of his heartbeat in his ears.

Potter furtively licked his lips and his face came nearer Draco’s.  _Oh, Merlin._

Unfortunately, Draco would never know if Potter was about to kiss him, because suddenly, the chairlift shook and restarted, and the moment was gone.

 

❅

 

One of Draco’s schoolmates had cast a malicious spell. There was no other explanation to this sudden change of weather, in his opinion, and Draco had been living in Scotland for the last seven years.

When they had put on the skis this morning, beanies had been traded for sunglasses. None of them had bothered with warming charms and Weasley had even decided to ski without his coat on, the tosser. However, soon after the  _chairlift incident_  – about which Draco had firmly decided not to think anymore – the first snowflakes had begun to fall. No less than half a downhill later, the sky had gone completely grey and the visibility had reduced to a few feet.

Struggling against the thick snow haze, Draco almost didn’t hear Potter calling him half-way down.

“Malfoy!”

He stopped hastily and narrowed his eyes as he scanned the ski run. He spotted Potter a few feet above him, on his knees with a kid.

“Come here, I need you!”

The child must be six at the very most, and was hunched up by Potter’s side. She was rocking slightly and the more Draco climbed back up, the more he heard her piercing cries.

“I think she’s hurt, but I’m not sure and she doesn’t understand me.”

Draco nodded and took off his skis. The girl was shouting “Maman-Papa” in a continuous plea.

“Where are her parents?” Draco asked.

“I think they were ahead, they must be waiting for her down the piste,” Potter replied.

All of a sudden, he looked older, weighted by his Saviour Coat, and Draco felt compelled to act.

He kneeled at the left of the girl and stroked her wet cheek.

“Qu’est-ce qui va pas? Tu t’es fait mal ?”

_What’s wrong? Are you hurt?_

The girl nodded and indicated her wrist.

Draco exchanged a look with Potter.

“D’accord, ma grande. Comment tu t’appelles?”

_Alright, Dear. What’s your name?_

“Mél-Mélissa,” she mumbled between two sobs.

“Ecoute-moi bien Mélissa. Mon ami va regarder ton poignet et pendant ce temps j’ai besoin que tu fasses quelque chose pour moi, tu veux bien?”

_Listen to me, Melissa. My friend’s going to look at your wrist,  
 and meanwhile I need you to do something for me, okay?_

The girl looked at him with her big wet green eyes. Draco had always had a thing for green eyes.

Draco gazed at Potter, who nodded in acknowledgment.

“J’ai besoin que tu me regardes et que tu me racontes ton histoire préférée, tu veux bien faire ça pour moi?”

_I need you to look me and tell me your favourite story.  
Can you do that for me?_

The girl nodded. Her lips were shaking and Draco was afraid she wouldn’t be able to speak at all, but she began to talk nevertheless. At first, the words were lost in her sobs, but the more she talked the firmer her voice became. Not once did Draco break eye contact with her, but he saw Potter removing the girl’s glove out of the corner of his eye. He discreetly nodded in answer to Potter’s silent question, and Potter took out his wand. The girl didn’t notice him casting the nonverbal Episkey. She was too busy talking about dragons and magicians.

Potter and Draco shared an amused look.

In the meantime, the snow hadn’t slowed, quite the opposite in fact. They couldn’t see more than two metres away and the temperature seemed to have dropped at least ten degrees.

Suddenly, she stopped talking. Her gaze jerked between Potter, her wrist and Draco.

“J’ai plus mal! Trop fort! Comment il a fait?”

_It doesn’t hurt anymore! Awesome! How did he do it?_

Draco laughed. “C’est un magicien,” he said with a wink.

_He’s a magician._

The girl’s eyes widened and she gawped at Potter. Draco chuckled and got up.

Potter ignored her entirely, as he was too busy fixating on Draco. “Good job, Malfoy,” he said in an unusually low voice.

“Yeah, you too,” Draco grumbled.

He avoided Potter’s gaze and put his skis on. He asked the girl if she felt able to ski down the slope. She shook her head and looked at him with big expectant green eyes. There was nothing in the world Draco could have done against it.

“Can you take her skis and my poles.” Draco had forgotten to make it a question, but he figured it couldn’t hurt much.

Potter widened his eyes in irritation but he grabbed Draco’s poles nonetheless.

Draco took the girl by both hands and lifted her up to her feet. He instructed her to put one foot on each of his own skis and nodded at Potter as they left him on the spot.

The girl was gripping his hands firmly as they gently slid down the slope. The pain seemed to be long forgotten, and bit by bit, she relaxed. Draco went slowly. Reasonably enough, everyone else seemed to have left the ski run.

Once they arrived at the bottom of the piste, a worried-looking couple ran towards them.

Potter joined them while Draco was explaining the situation – purposefully avoiding any mention of their violation of the Statute of Secrecy, of course.

The parents thanked them both. After a hard hug, Mélissa asked Draco to bend down and whispered in his ear.

“C’est parce qu’il est magicien que t’es amoureux de lui ?”

_Is it because he’s a magician that you’re in love with him?_

It was a good thing she didn’t wait for an answer because Draco would have been unable to speak after that.

 

❅

 

Once they had established skiing would be more dangerous than fun considering the hard weather, they decided to call it quits for the day. Unfortunately, every other skier seemed to have decided the same, because the resort restaurants were crowded.

That’s how they found themselves in a shitty Muggle eatery named after some Scottish guy for some reason.

Draco was always up for a snarky comment. In the current situation, he had a lot of things to say.

Granger had chosen sodding fast food that could make Hurry Wizard piss in their pants, out of all the fine places in the land of gastronomic delights, fuck’s sake! And the way Potter was eating, like his life depended on it, was also a gold mine for future teasing topics.

But he was too busy trying not to imagine Potter’s lips on his. Because that was a silly thing to do, right? Potter didn’t like him that way and all the signals Draco thought he had read could very well be a lot of rubbish. Really, there were logical explanations for everything Potter had done around Draco. Potter often laughed with him? Didn’t he with everyone else? The arm around Draco’s shoulder last night? A friendly gesture. The staring at Draco’s lips? A moment of confusion. The regular blushing? Maybe he had noticed Draco’s own strangeness towards him and was embarrassed. The odd reaction to Draco’s new haircut? Hadn’t Potter always been a weird guy?

He tried not to look at Potter as he unfolded his burger. He tried not to think about Potter’s foot inches away his own, as he began to eat his tepid chips. He pointedly ignored Hermione’s inquisitive glance in his direction as he separated the bread from the overdone meat. He didn’t blush when Potter looked at him, he was way too busy eating the pickles on his burger one after another. At the end, the only enjoyable moment of the meal had been the dessert. Because he had always loved ice cream, not at all because Potter had a cute spot of whipped cream on his upper lip all along.

And, somewhere between the Chicken Wings and the Sundae, the realisation hit Draco.

The girl from the ski slope was right. He was in love with the Chosen One.

Where the hell did  _that_  came from?

 

❅

 

Stuck in the chalet in the middle of the afternoon because of the incoming snowstorm, they had no other choice than to play a new board game.

“I’m with Hermione,” said Draco before anyone else could.

There were two reasons to his choice. First, after hearing the rather easy rules, he felt like he stood a fair chance to actually win the game. If he wasn’t playing against Hermione, that was. And second, every time he hadn’t had a word on the matter, he had been paired with Potter. And right now, he needed to be far, far, away from Potter.

The reactions were immediate. Most of his housemates looked surprised, while Potter looked slightly pained – well, if he had wanted to be with her, he should have said it earlier, right? – and Weasley’s face was a whole picture. He had become redder than a Fire Crab and steam –  _actual steam!_  – was escaping from his ears. Just because of that, Draco would do it again in a heartbeat.

But Granger’s reaction was truly the precious one. First, she gawped, then she reddened almost as much as her boyfriend and, at last, she smiled broadly. She seemed genuinely pleased, and Draco wondered if it was the offer by itself or the first-name-thing. “Thank you, Draco, I would be glad to share the victory with you.”

 _This_  was the spirit he was seeking!

The board was beautiful. Granger had performed an outstanding piece of Charmwork on the original board. She had transfigured it to show famous wizarding places rather than whatever Muggle stuff it must have shown before. Gringotts was true-to-life and even though Hogwarts could have been better proportioned, the platform 9¾ was brilliant.

The game itself was actually entertaining. Hermione and Draco had worked their way through the enchanted board game, and with both their brains combined, they had found the solution in only three turns.

“Next turn, we Floo over to the Wizenmagot, agreed?” Granger whispered in Draco’s ear. He nodded.

There was still another round to go before they could play again, and as the round went, Draco tried his best to keep an emotionless face. Abbott and Longbottom - who hadn’t been very focused on the game so far - wasted their turn by wandering in Diagon Alley, not entering any locations.

Millicent and Goldstein, Theo and Macmillan then Thomas and The-Boy-About-Whom-Draco-Tried-Not-To-Think made new suggestions and wrote down some conclusions.

Draco was a bit more worried about the following team. The trio formed by the Patil twins and Boot had proven to be quite clever, and Draco had wondered more than once if they hadn’t had the solution just yet. This theory was proven wrong as they went on another investigation.

Draco must have let out a relieved sigh, because Daphne fixed her gaze on him with an inquisitive look in the eye. She seemed to read right through him and bent to whisper into Blaise’s ear. “Wizenmagot,” she declared after he had nodded.

Their piece disappeared from their square and appeared in the Wizenmagot square. Draco couldn’t help but whistle in the face of such a nice display of magic. “Well done, Teammate.”

“So… We accuse Rufus Scrimgeour, in the Leaky Cauldron, with… the Elder Wand,” Blaise announced.

Finnigan shook his head and Hermione handed the Leaky Cauldron card, face-down, to Blaise.

“Shite,” cursed Daphne.

“Wizenmagot.”

Draco jerked his head. “What, you too?”

Weasley shrugged, “We know you have the answer, mate, we may as well try our luck.”

_Mate?_

Hermione and Draco shared a surprised look and Draco crossed his fingers while waiting for Weasley’s theory.

“We accuse Minerva McGonagall, in the Leaky Cauldron, with the Draught of Living Death.”

Both Hermione and he let out a loud sigh and they handed them the Leaky Cauldron card.

“Why on earth did you try the exact combination we suggested the last time?  We wouldn’t have suggested our three Clues.”

Weasley shrugged casually.  _Did the bloke know how to communicate at all?_  After a while, he said, “Or you could have been hoping we’d think exactly that way. Anyway, it was worth a try.”

That was… admittedly a clever way of thinking. Almost Slytherin in fact. Draco blinked several times. “Yes, I suppose.”

“That’s well thought Ron!” said Granger, as if she didn’t quite believe it.

“Always the tone of surprise,” Weasley smirked.

Hermione chuckled.

Appalled by the cheesiness of their exchange, Draco rolled his eyes. “Wizenmagot. We accuse Minerva McGonagall-”

“-in the Ministry of Magic-” continued Hermione.

“-with the Pensieve,” Draco achieved with a grin.

Once everyone had accepted their landslide victory, Draco shook Hermione’s hand.

“Well done, Teammate,” she winked.

“Wait – How do you kill someone with a Pensieve, exactly?” Millicent asked.

Draco turned and raised an eyebrow at a blushing Hermione.

“You try and find ten bloody different weapons in the Wizarding World! ‘Mione did just fine,” Weasley answered in a _truly charming_ display of Gryffindor testosterone.

“And besides,” Potter added with a shrug, “you can always trap someone in a five day memory and wait for them to die of thirst.”

Everyone, including Draco-who just couldn’t help it-burst into laughter.

After a moment, Boot said, “Oh, come on. Have you ever seen a Pensieve? The thing is heavier than a granite cauldron! I’m quite sure a good old Leviosa-and-Drop would do the trick.”

They all agreed to that and went on for five more games. Hermione and Draco won two of them but the more it went, the harder it was to ignore Potter’s laugh, Potter’s jokes and the heat of Potter’s knuckles every time Draco and he exchanged cards.

Therefore when, after a rather long game Millicent and Goldstein had won mercilessly, Patil Two rose and said the snow had stopped falling, Draco was the first one to grab his coat and his wand and rush out.

 

❅

 

Draco was grumpy.

Having been an only child, he had never been good at snowball fights. The first time, Pansy had hit him in the eye with a particularly nasty shot, and Madam Pomfrey had had to  _Enervate_  him.

This one was no exception.

He was wet and he was cold. After having been hit by more snowballs than humanly acceptable, Draco had retreated behind a cabin at the edge of the garden. He could still hear the hysterical screams, the laughs, and the muffled sounds of falling bodies, but he was out of reach.

At least, he thought he was, but that was before Potter showed up, grinning like a child in Zonko.

“Team up with me?” He asked, panting from his run.

He had snow in his hair, his cheeks and nose were a bright shade of red and his eyes were sparkling. Somehow, his glasses were intact. Intact, snow-free, and still on his face.

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “And why would I want to do that?”

Potter looked at his nails. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re chickening out behind a cabin instead of fighting like a man?”

Draco sighed. “Ostensibly, I was planning an attack from behind.”

Potter rolled his eyes, and teased “Right, so what’s your brilliant plan, then?”

Draco blinked several times, fascinated by the way Potter’s features had changed from fake-annoyance to a stunning mischievous grin. When Potter _winked_ , Draco’s resolution left at once.

“Well, since you’ve decided to join me,” Draco smirked, “Obviously, it needs adjustments.”

Potter laughed a heartfelt and light laugh, head tilted back and throat on display, the whole picture.

They agreed on a plan and spent a few minutes making several snowballs.

“The thing is to make it compacted enough to hold, but not too compact. You want it to fly far away. See?” Potter threw a snowball. It landed only a couple of feet away. “I made it too compact.”

“Fascinating,” Draco drawled.

“Oh, bite me!”

If Potter kept looking him _with such a mischievous glint in his eye_ , there was a possibility Draco would take his suggestion literally.

Draco shook his head to dismiss the thought and resumed his snowball making.

Not that he was going to admit it, but the tip was indeed helping. It wasn’t his fault no one had ever taught him how to properly build a snowball! He did his utmost to respect Potter’s instructions for the rest of the balls.

“Okay, I think we’re good.”

A good twenty balls were lined up before them. Draco was sure they couldn’t carry all of it, but that way, they had munitions for a second round.

An armful of snowballs each, they scrutinised the battlefield. A lot of their playmates had given up.

They exchanged a look and nodded in unison.

“Go!”

They broke cover and ran towards the others, splitting up on either side, to make a pincer attack on first Finnigan, then Weasley, Millicent, and finally, Thomas. Potter’s balls had all reached their targets, whereas Draco had only hit Weasley.

“Shite, Malfoy, how can you be so good at Quidditch and yet unable to hit a target three feet from you?”

“I’m a Seeker, for Merlin’s sake, not a bloody Chaser!”

“Yeah? Catch that one!”

And the traitor threw his last snowball right at Draco’s head. Thankfully, Draco managed to catch it, but the ball exploded in his hand anyway.

Draco gave him a sly grin. “Wanna play dirty, Potter?”

He had one last ball. He walked forward and once Potter was at arm length, he crushed the snowball right on Potter’s head. Without further ado, he ran towards the cabin and began to grab the remaining snowballs.

While he was trying to figure out how to transport the ten balls in his arms, he remembered he had taken his wand with him.

“ _Reducto_ ,” he cast hastily.

He hid behind the cabin wall and observed Potter making snowballs badly hidden behind a tree.

“ _Wingardium leviosa!_ ” He directed his wand to Potter and the snowball followed his instruction. “ _Amplificatum!_ ”

The snowball hit Potter on the face, and Draco couldn’t help a laugh. Potter rose and searched for a few seconds before catching sight of him.

Draco launched another snowball in the same way, but this time Potter managed to dodge the shot.

Draco heard Potter’s laugh from the other side of the garden. He came out of hiding and ran across the garden.

Potter, who was waiting for him behind his tree, attacked him right after he went out.

Draco didn’t know where their compatriots had gone, but he honestly couldn’t care less. There was only Potter.

He threw most of his balls the magical way, and every one of them reached their target. Potter was completely wet now, and Draco wondered for a second if he wasn’t going to catch a chill. Surely he wouldn’t be laughing this hard if he was cold, would he?

Draco climbed on the swing and carried on his attack. He was out of reach and Potter had to expose himself in order to get to him.

Draco threw his last three balls, but Potter didn’t stop. He kept running towards Draco, one ball in each hand.

Draco jumped down off the swing and prepared to dodge Potter’s shots, but Potter didn’t stop. He was still running, laughing out loud with a fierce look on his face.

Worried, Draco walked back a few steps, but Potter didn’t stop. When he came to point-blank range, Potter mashed both his snowballs onto Draco’s chest.

Carried away by Potter’s enthusiasm, Draco tumbled on his back, Potter lying on top of him. Thank Merlin for the snow covered ground.

If both of them were laughing a few seconds ago, they were now very still.

Potter was panting, and Draco could feel his breath on his skin. Potter’s face was flushed, and his lips were full and red.

“Fancy letting go of me, Potter?”

Draco had absolutely no idea how his brain had managed to build a full sentence. All he could think of was Potter’s strong arms on his sides and the heat of Potter’s body inches over his own.

However, Draco made no move to free himself from Potter’s embrace and Potter didn’t shift in the slightest.

“I don’t think so,” Potter purred. His gaze lingered on Draco’s lips.

Oh God, this was happening.

Harry Potter was going to kiss him. On the ground, in the very wet and very cold snow. If Draco didn’t die from embarrassment first because there was no way Potter wouldn’t notice his hard on.

For hours, Potter held still and kept looking from Draco’s lips to his eyes, and to his lips again. His glasses were slipping from his nose a bit and Draco found the sight absolutely endearing.

_Do it, do it, do it._

The moment Potter’s lips touched his, Draco literally melted.

Potter’s lips were even warmer and softer than Draco had thought they would be. Draco was overwhelmed by Potter’s scent. He could feel Potter’s stubble on his chin and Potter’s cold nose on his cheek. At first, Potter pressed slightly on Draco’s lips, unmoving. Draco wanted to taste those lips, but he was afraid that if he moved, Potter would run away, and that was the last thing he wanted.

After an eternity or maybe a few seconds, the pressure on Draco’s lips deepened. When Potter parted his lips, Draco inhaled sharply. From Potter’s attempt, he took his cue and tentatively licked Potter’s upper lip. Apparently, that was all Potter was waiting for, because he leaned in, crushing Draco’s body against his, and began to properly attack Draco’s mouth.

Draco had never been kissed that way before. Hell, he felt like he had never been kissed at all.

Potter was giving and taking. He bit, he licked, he  _moaned_. His clever tongue was chasing Draco’s own. It was a thousand times better than anything Draco had imagined. Potter’s mouth felt incredible against Draco’s.  _Potter’s taste_  was incredible.

Draco didn’t know when his hands had started to live their own life, but apparently the right one had decided to snugly tangle in Potter’s messy – and surprisingly  _soft_  – hair, whilst the other one had taken care of investigating Potter’s lower body on its own. And oh God, Draco was being kissed by Harry Potter, and he was grabbing Potter’s firm arse and  _Merlin_. Was Harry Potter really getting a hard-on from kissing Draco?

If Draco hadn’t died from embarrassment yet, there was a strong possibility he would do so after coming in his pants if Potter didn’t stop this ridiculous rocking thing with his hips.

Draco couldn’t tell how long they kissed – it could have been minutes or hours, for all he knew – but when they parted, they were both panting and blushing.

“Wow,” a slow and breathtaking smile grew on Potter’s face. “I mean – fuck –  _wow_.”

Draco chuckled, and leaned for another kiss. He couldn’t have said it better, anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry the update took forever.  
> Thank you for all the kudos and review. :)  
> You guys make my day. <3

Draco had just finished his morning shave when he heard the soft knock on the bathroom door. Startled, he hurried to wipe his face with the warm towel and opened the door.

“Potter! What are you-”

Potter caught him up in a deep kiss and closed the door-Merlin knows how.

This kiss had everything and yet nothing to do with the ones they had shared in the snow the previous night.

Yesterday, Potter’s clever tongue had made Draco’s brain melt. He had lost all sense of reality. Everything that mattered then was Potter’s lips, his tongue, his breath, his moans, his arse and the swing of his hips against Draco’s. Draco may have come in his pants somewhere between two kisses, but for sure he hadn’t died from embarrassment like he thought he would. The moment had been totally surreal, and when they went back in and joined their friends in front of the fireplace, it had begun to feel like a blurry dream.

Neither Potter nor Draco had approached the other after that.

Even if he had the strange feeling of having dreamt the whole thing up, that hadn’t stopped Draco from cherishing the memory anyhow. He had cherished it quite thoroughly twice, in fact. In his bed before sleep and in the shower this morning.

But this kiss was another business entirely. First, Potter was dry and warm against Draco. Second, Potter’s hands were everywhere, from Draco’s bare back to his jeans covered arse. And last, Draco was, this time, plenty aware of the situation. And he had the firm intention of making it good Pensieve material. Even if his hair was wet, again.

Draco put a tentative hand on Potter’s broad shoulder. Potter’s heat was radiating through the thin fabric of his shirt, and Draco could feel the muscle roll under his fingers, as Potter skimmed his back up and down. Draco shivered under the soft touch.

“Hmmm,” Potter moaned in his ear, making Draco shiver even more.

Draco’s eyes closed on their own when Potter made a line of wet kisses along his jaw. Potter’s stubble was a delight on his cheek. Against all odds, Draco’s fingers met no resistance as he ran them into Potter’s hair. The nest on top of Potter’s head was even softer than he remembered and,  _oh god_ , did it smell like apples?

It definitely smelled like apples.

Draco inhaled deeply and drew his head back. Potter jumped on the opportunity to bury his face in Draco’s neck.

Never had Draco thought a kiss on the neck could give that much pleasure. And yet, there he was, in the middle of a muggle bathroom, panting, moaning under Potter’s mouth. But in his defence, it wasn’t exactly a chaste kiss. Potter was licking, sucking and biting. Every time the pressure of Potter’s full lips changed against the skin of his neck, Draco felt a shiver run down his spine. He felt weak on his feet.

Potter’s kisses moved to Draco’s collarbone, then his chest and finally settled on his nipples, reducing Draco to a moaning little shite.

When Potter started to _bite_ , irony hit Draco. It looked as though Potter had a thing for molesting Draco’s chest in bathrooms.

Draco wondered what those lips could do against other parts of his anatomy, but before he could finish building his mental image, Potter drew back. His eyes were smouldering, the green barely visible behind the dilated pupils.

Every spot Potter had kissed or sucked felt cold without his lips to warm them.

Potter put two firm hands on Draco’s waist and, without any warning, the insolent prat  _pushed him back_ , and  _lifted him up_  onto the vanity.

Completely without thinking about what he was doing, Draco spread his legs to let Potter lean against him. Even sitting on the furniture, Draco was taller than Potter, and Potter had to stand on tip-toe to press his hot mouth against Draco’s.

Draco tried to give as much as he took, but it was a hard task, seeing that Potter kissed like he fought. Precise, restless, he quickly reduced Draco to a whimpering mess. When Draco began to shove his hands towards Potter’s waist, Potter grabbed both his wrists and took them away. He did not break the kiss doing so.

When Draco thought he couldn’t handle the assault any more, Potter let go of his mouth. He leaned forward, crushing his muscled chest against Draco’s, and groaned.

Harry Potter had looked at Draco’s bare back in the mirror and fucking  _groaned_.

Draco truly was blessed.

Potter let go of Draco’s wrists and shoved his right hand in Draco’s jeans, firmly grabbing his arse. His left hand rested firmly on the nape of Draco’s neck.

Knowing Potter was fit and being firmly held between Potter’s strong arms were totally different matters. Draco was  _at Potter’s mercy_. But truth be told, even if Draco could, he wouldn’t want to move.

After all, _Potter had his hands down his trousers_.

Potter pressed on Draco’s arse and pushed his hips even closer to Draco’s. He was rock hard against Draco’s thigh. The thought made Draco see stars behind his closed lashes.

When Potter began to nip Draco’s neck, Draco remembered his hands.

He raised his left hand to Potter’s shoulder. Merlin, he couldn’t get enough of this firm, broad, shoulder. Draco wasn’t dirty-minded! It was Potter’s shoulder that was obscene. All muscular and hot through the black t-shirt. And to think he hid it all in this t-shirt on a regular basis!  _Shameful!_

Draco’s right arm was trapped by Potter’s, so really, he didn’t have any other choice than to place his hand on Potter’s well-rounded bum. The squeeze, however, was all Draco.

“Hmmm,” Potter moaned roughly.

His mouth had let go of Draco’s neck – which welcomed the relief – and started to suck his earlobe whilst he rubbed against Draco’s leg.

Draco could hear  _and feel_ Potter’s every frantic breath right in his ear, and every coherent thought left him.

If anyone stood in the hallway - or anywhere else in the chalet for that matter - they would know exactly what was happening in the bathroom. The only sound Draco could hear was Potter’s  _groans_  in his ears; but he knew he wasn’t exactly quiet either. The words ‘Potter’ and ‘please’ might be escaping his lips every now and then, but how could he know for sure?

All of a sudden, Potter choked and went very still, stopping the erratic movement of his hips. He seemed to hold his breath for a few seconds before releasing a deep exhale.

Holy fucking crickets. _Did Potter just come in his pants?_

Potter slowly reopened his eyes. A bright shade of pink spread on his cheeks as he avoided Draco’s gaze.

He let go of Draco’s neck and arse and if Draco had had less self-esteem, he would have complained. Strongly.

“I – Hm.” Potter straightened and smoothed his t-shirt, still not looking at Draco. “Sorry about that.”

Draco blinked. What kind of plonker apologises for having an orgasm? Draco wasn’t sorry at all. In fact, he wanted very much to pick up where they had left off. He was even ready to beg if that was what Potter wanted.

Potter stepped back and bit his lip. He cleared his throat and said in a husky voice, “See you round.”

 _What?_ What about Draco?

And just like that, he was gone.

“You fucking selfish arsehole,” grumbled Draco to the ceiling, leaning back against the vanity.

Whatever the fuck all of  _that_  had been about, Draco was sure of one thing.

Another shower was in order.

 

❅

 

“That’s it?” Draco jerked his head towards Potter.

Potter raised his brows and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“But what happens to the boy? Does he win the race? And what sort of elf exactly was that green little creature and why do they all have fucking luminous swords?”

Potter laughed. “I have no idea. You’ll have to watch the film for that.”

Draco blinked and stared at Potter’s smile. “Isn’t that what we just did?”

“Of course not, you dork.” Potter punched him in the arm, “That wasn’t the film. That was just a teaser.” Seeing the look of confusion on Draco’s face, he pointed towards the screen. “And there’s another one. Trailers are meant to make people want to see the film when it’s released a few months later.”

“Or not,” replied Draco after a while, watching the creepy chick slowly coming out a trapdoor on the screen. Definitely not.

It was a good thing the film lasted longer than the teasers, though. Draco didn’t know how they could have eaten all of the popcorn otherwise. And to be honest, he would have been disappointed to only spend a couple of minutes in the dark next to Potter.

Not that he had chosen to sit by Potter’s side, mind. Actually, he had sat alone behind everyone else on purpose, and Potter hadn’t asked permission to sit at his right.

“I bought popcorn,” he had said. “I prefer the salty ones, but I figured you were more a sweet kind of bloke.”

Not only it was well spotted, but it was also very kind, and that left Draco slightly perplexed.

Why hadn’t Potter bought two separate buckets of popcorn if he preferred the salty ones? Why on earth had he bought popcorn for Draco in the first place? And why did he sit next to Draco when the Weasel had a perfectly available spot right next to him?

It couldn’t be some kind of date Draco hadn’t been advised of, now could it? He didn’t have a lot of experience in the matter, but he was very certain advising the other party involved was the done thing when going on a date.

And if Potter had wanted to go on a date with Draco, all he had to do was ask, right? Surely Potter knew that by now.

Or was that what that kissing thing in the bathroom had been all about? If so, Potter couldn’t expect Draco to understand any of it.

As far as Draco was concerned, that wasn’t a date.

They were two blokes who happened to fancy each other – at least, on Draco’s end that was – , who had snogged each other senseless that very morning, and who were now watching a film together. And sharing popcorn.

Definitely not a date.

“Is it me or this teaser way longer than the others?” Draco whispered.

Potter laughed loudly and that got him shushed by several others. “This isn’t a teaser, it’s the actual movie.”

Well, shite, then. Having found the first trailers annoying as hell, Draco hadn’t paid attention in the slightest. He leaned closer to Potter and whispered, “Hypothetically, if you were to, I don’t know, summarize what has already happened, what would you say?”

Potter chuckled and replied, “Let’s see, there is this bloke,” he pointed out a guy on the screen. Having Potter whispering in his ear brought back a lot of interesting memories to Draco. He shivered despite himself and focused on the screen. “He goes to work every morning and comes home every night and everyone is acting very strangely, but I don’t get why yet. Subtitles are going a bit too fast.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Of course you don’t, you illiterate moron.”

Potter snorted. “Says the guy unable to follow ten minutes of film.”

Touché. Draco smiled and leaned. “Never heard of hypothetical talk, Potter?”

“Oh, I have.” Potter gave him a stunning crooked smile. “Just remind me, who is this woman, again?” He drew his head towards the screen.

Blaise jerked back. “Could you two lovebirds shut up, already? Some of us want to enjoy the film.”

His cheeks burning, Draco was thankful for the darkness of the room. They didn’t speak after that. Draco tried to focus on the film, but Potter’s proximity wasn’t doing any good to his brain.

The first time their fingers touched in the bucket of popcorn, Draco startled and quickly jerked his hand out.

The second time it happened, their knuckles brushed before Draco slowly removed his hand.

The third, fourth and fifth time, Draco let his fingers linger over Potter’s a few seconds.

The last time, Potter grabbed his hand, and held it for the rest of the film.

 

❅

 

Potter had let go of his hand as soon as the light had turned on and a little voice in Draco’s head kept telling him Potter was ashamed of holding his hand in public. It was a pity, because he could have used the warmth of Potter’s hand.

The snowstorm hadn’t grown weaker and the walk back was likely to be difficult, if not painful.

Draco adjusted his scarf and flew away from Daphne, Boot and Hermione as they discussed the meaning of the film. Needless to say, Draco had no fucking idea what the film had been about.

Lost in his thoughts, he almost didn’t notice the group had stopped in the village centre.

“Come on, Harry, it’s a brilliant idea!” Draco heard Weasley say as he approached them.

Potter smiled and shrugged. “I’ll come with you, but I’m not doing it.”

“What about you guys?”

Thomas and Finnigan looked at each other and shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

Weasley somehow managed to convince Millicent and Longbottom along with them to do Draco couldn’t tell what, and the six of them left towards the shopping centre.

With Potter gone, Draco realised he was breathing a little easier. His shoulders relaxed. This whole being in love thing really was exhausting.

Hermione approached him and locked her elbow with his. “How did you find the film, Draco?”

Draco tried hard not to blush. “It was alright, I guess. Popcorn was good.”  _And holding hands was even better._

Facing Hermione’s inquisitive stare, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if she was using Legilimency. He built his strongest mental shield, just in case.

Hermione did most of the talking during their walk. She talked about the weather, Muggle studies, their plans for New Year’s Eve the following day, and even the Arithmancy essay due for the first day back to Hogwarts.

If only his former self could see him right now. Arm in arm with a Muggleborn, making small talk and sharing laughs, enjoying the company. He liked to think he would have understood. If anything, he was proud he did now.

“How about waffles?” Hermione asked once they had arrived in the chalet and warmed up a little.

They were gathered around the coffee table and had set the Monopoly board up. Hermione’s proposition was received by a bunch of excited nods but no one lifted a finger to help.

“Care to help, Draco?” She asked expectantly.

Draco didn’t know exactly to whom he was trying to prove a point, but he gladly agreed anyway.

Thus far, he had purposefully avoided cooking duties whenever they had divided up tasks, and when Hermione started to get several bowls, some strange looking tools and devices, and a ton of ingredients, Draco started to panic.

“You’ve never done this before, have you?”

Draco snorted irritably. “Purebloods don’t cook.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “It’s not very different from Potions.” She pointed towards one of the devices. “For a start, we need to weigh the ingredients.”

The device was flat and small. Surely, that couldn’t be the scales.

Seeing the look on Draco’s face, Hermione chuckled. She handed him a bag of flour and a bowl.

Draco inspected the device. There were two buttons on either side of a tiny screen. “Why isn’t there a  _set_  of scales?”

He listened with interest as Hermione explained how the tare worked. Together, they weighed the flour, the butter and the sugar.

“Here, take the whisk,” she handed him the strange looking tool and Draco grabbed it carefully. “Don’t look me like that, it’s designed to avoid lumps.”

Teasing, Draco mouthed ‘lumps’ in fake disbelief and Hermione elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“There, you’ll be the muscle, I’ll pour the flour.”

And she did just that. After a few moments, Draco got the rhythm, and in fairly short order, the mixture was ready.

“Alright so…” Hermione inspected the last device and clicked it on. “I haven’t done it in ages, but the principle mustn’t have changed.”

She handed a brush to Draco. An actual brush, and not a word to explain exactly _why_. “I’m confused.”

“Oh, right, wait.” She opened several doors before finding the bottle of oil she was looking for. She poured some oil in a ramekin.

“I’m still confused.”

She opened the fuming device. Draco took sight of the reverse-waffle shaped plates and everything started to make sense. “Soak the brush in the oil and pass it over both the plates,” instructed Granger.

A couple minutes later, the first waffle was done. A couple more minutes later, the first waffle was gone.

“We’re gifted.” Hermione said with a mouthful of waffle and Draco agreed.

After that, more waffles were made and quickly piled up, ready for dinner, and a couple hours later, they had formed a considerable stack. After a day of dwelling on his encounter in the bathroom, Draco welcomed the distraction.

As they waited for the last batch to bake, Hermione casually leaned against the counter.

“So, Draco, how are things betw-”

That’s when the front door swung open, stopping Hermione mid-sentence. Quickly, laughs filled the room.

Without worrying about leaving mud and snow in his path, Weasley entered the kitchen. He took Hermione by the waist and pulled her into a painful-looking hug. He lifted her up and swung her around. When she hit the counter, he put her down and literally yelled. “I did it! I can’t wait for you to see it!”

The git let go of her and removed one arm of his jumper. He was showing off a white dressing on his biceps.

That’s when it clicked in Draco’s mind.  _Tattoos_. They had been getting tattoos.

Hermione smiled and looked at Weasley with big mushy eyes. “What did you choose?”

“A lion,” he replied smugly.

 _Of course_. Draco sneered as he turned off the waffle maker and removed the last waffle.

“Hi there.”

Draco took his time to compose a playful smirk before turning to the door.

Potter was there, casually leaning against the doorframe. He was sexy as hell with his feet bare, his jeans low on his hips, his too big jumper, his crooked smile, his mess of hair and his…

Holy fuck.

His  _earring_.

“What the fuck are you wearing, Potter?”

Draco couldn’t believe his eyes. His fantasy Potter was standing in front of him. Ear pierced, smirking, as if the sole purpose of his existence was to drive Draco crazy. The picture was even hotter than Draco had imagined.

His mouth watered.

“You like it?” the prat asked smugly, running a hand in his hair.

He had chosen a simple golden ring, discreet and smart. The brightness of it highlighted the green of his eyes, making him look older, wiser and appealingly more dangerous. Draco wanted to fist Potter’s messy hair and lick the golden ring. He wanted to say filthy things in Potter’s ears. He wanted to be back in the bathroom, and undress Potter slowly. He wanted Potter naked, apart from the golden earring.

But he wasn’t going to tell that to Potter. He straightened and gathered what was left of his dignity.

“If only it wasn’t attached to your scarred face,” Draco said when he passed next to him, leaving the room.

 

❅

 

“Forfeit! Forfeit! Forfeit! Forfeit!”

Finnigan had remembered during Trivial Pursuit and had teased Potter until they were all chanting for Draco’s humiliation.

When Weasley had asked what Potter had been waiting for, he had blushed violently and changed the subject.

“Alright, alright,” Potter said loudly.

He rose and scanned the room, looking uncertain. He locked his eyes to Draco’s.

 _Ask me to kiss you. Ask me to kiss you in front of everyone._ Unfortunately, Draco had never been good at Legilimency.

“As your forfeit,” he seemed to think for a moment before saying, “I want you go outside.”

“What, in the storm?”

Potter nodded.

“Do I get to put my cloak on?”

Potter shook his head and a slow smile started to expand across his face.

“You had two fucking days to come up with a forfeit, and you settle for  _that_?”

The prat raised both eyebrows in a sorry-not-sorry look.

Draco didn’t hear the comments and the laughs around him.

“How long?”

Potter shrugged. “Dunno. ‘Til you’re too cold, I guess?”

“That’s the point? You just want me to freeze?” Draco frowned.

Potter brushed a bit of hair back behind his ear and shrugged again. “Yeah.”

Some of their friends were starting to bet on the outcome, but Draco ignored them.

Something was missing. Potter seemed slightly embarrassed about his request and Draco didn’t quite get why. He thought fast. Potter wanted him to get cold. Maybe he planned on offering to warm him up afterwards, who knew?

Potter was still looking at Draco as he answered some question Thomas had asked, and Draco couldn’t help but stare. That damn golden sparkle at his ear would be Draco's ruin. Once again, Draco wondered what Potter had in mind. After all, he had pierced his ear a couple days after Draco had drawn him wearing an earring; that couldn’t be a coincidence.

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” He rose on his feet and smirked. “But I think I’m a bit overdressed.”

He was going to regret it, for sure. But the look on Potter’s face was priceless. Survival was an overdone concept, after all.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact with Potter, Draco took off his jumper.

Ignoring the cat calls, He started to undo the buttons of his shirt, one by one.

He still didn’t take his eyes off of Potter’s. He began to shimmy a little, smirking.

To Draco’s utter satisfaction, Potter seemed unable to close his mouth.

When he reached the last button, Draco quirked a playful eyebrow. Potter was standing in an unsteady-looking posture, biting his lip hard, drinking in the sight of him with smouldering eyes. A few feet separated them, but Draco could practically feel the heat emanating from him. They were back in the bathroom. Nothing else mattered.

Slowly, he slid the shirt down his shoulder. Potter reacted to that, jerking his hand then stopping it mid-way. Draco’s grin widened. He undid his wrists buttons one after the other and began to roll his hips along to his own music.

Potter shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable.

Strangely enough, even though Draco was less dressed than before, he felt much hotter now. He slowly pulled his arm out of one sleeve, then the other, purposefully not looking at his own dark tattoo, and threw the shirt to Potter.

He decided to stop there. His bits wouldn’t forgive him if he removed the jeans.

“Close your mouth, you’ll catch Nargles,” Draco said with a wink as he passed next to Potter, reaching for the glazed door.

Well.

At least, the storm had weakened a bit since the afternoon. Snowflakes were gently falling in a random pattern, but there were still thirty solid centimetres of snow on the ground.

Draco took a deep breath. He wouldn’t chicken out in front of Potter. He opened the door.

Snow entered the room, along with a chilling, frigid breeze.

He stepped outside. Draco’s skin reacted instantly to the aggression. Goose bumps covered his chest and he began to shiver hard. He took a few more steps in the snow and turned toward the house. He saw his comrades and friends behind the windows, showing diverse reactions from cheering to pouting. Potter was standing just behind the closed pane.

Draco gathered all his courage. He crossed his arms, composed a painful smirk, and began to casually tap his foot on the snow.

He was not going to let Potter win, not if it was the last thing he did.

But, on the other hand, if he stayed a little longer, his ears would surely fall on the ground. Not to mention his nipples and his fingers. God, what was wrong with him?

After what felt like an eternity of stubbornness from both ends, Potter opened the door and shouted, “For the sake of Merlin, Malfoy, come back inside.”

“Make me.”

His voice hadn’t sounded as playful as intended, but it did the trick regardless.

Potter stepped outside, ran towards him and pulled him by the arm. Draco wanted to curl up against his side and steal his warmth, but he refrained. They were being watched, and Potter was ashamed of him, remember?

“You moron,” mumbled Potter, pushing him inside.

He let Potter settle him by the fireplace. Against all odds, Potter removed his jumper and slipped it on Draco. Stunned and a bit numbed by the cold, Draco let him. Before he could process what had happened, he was dry, warmed up and the moment was fast forgotten.

The game of Trivial Pursuit restarted in a gleeful and oblivious din.

No one paid attention to Draco, now wearing a knitted jumper, too big for him, with a big H in the middle. No one aside from Hermione, who was smiling smugly, and Potter who seemed unable to take his eyes from Draco.

The warm jumper was oddly soft against his bare skin. Overwhelmed by the manly smell of it, Draco couldn’t help but wonder who exactly had won their little face-off.

 

❅

 

Resigned to the idea of never sleeping again in his entire life, Draco sat back upright and reached for Potter’s jumper on his bedside table. He inhaled deeply in the soft fabric.

Merlin, what he wouldn’t do to have the actual Potter against him right now.

_Knock Knock._

Draco frowned and looked at the tiny clock on the wall. Two in the morning. What the hell?

_Knock knock._

His heart fluttered. Could it be Potter?

He stood and checked his hair in the mirror before opening his door.

He felt a strange déjà-vu as he saw Potter in the doorframe, carrying Hyperion.

“He was in my room again.” He said, as if knocking at his door at fucking two in the morning was a natural thing to do.

Potter handed Hyperion to Draco who took him in disbelief. If he had wondered where his cat had been all day, he was now reassured. It seemed like he wasn’t the only one to have a little crush on the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Drive-Draco-Crazy.

Hyperion purred in Draco’s arms and rubbed his head against his jawline before climbing on his shoulder and jumping directly on Draco’s bed. Potter’s eyes didn’t leave Draco for a second.

An awkward silence settled in and Draco felt the urge to fill it up.

“You do realise it’s two in the morning, right?”

He didn’t know why he had said that. He could have thanked Potter for bringing back Hyperion. He could have said something about Potter’s hair. Something funny and charming. Anything but to make Potter look hurt like he did.

Potter stroked the nape of his neck. “Yeah. Sorry for bothering you.” He turned on his feet and mumbled, “G'night, Draco.”

Cursing himself mentally, Draco reached for Potter’s wrist.

“Wait.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, sorry for the late update, guys. Being on break, I was hoping to post sooner, but I got sick. Talk about a perfect life.  
> I blame the fever if none of this makes any sense. ;)
> 
> So there it is. The reason why I've changed the rating of the fic. Nothing explicit, though. I hope you'll enjoy!

Potter stopped and turned towards Draco. “Yes?”

Merlin help him, what was he supposed to say now? Was he to beg Potter to stay and admit how pathetic he was? He couldn’t be blunt enough-couldn’t bring himself to be blunt enough to invite Potter in openly for a snog. Offering to show him the room would be an obvious ploy to get him alone. The problem, of course, was that what he wanted was to throw himself at Potter’s feet and confess… what, his love? Draco wasn’t about to do that.

Draco began to regret acting without a plan.

Potter was waiting, eyebrow raised, playful glint in the eye. A slow smile began to spread on his lips. Draco remembered the jumper.

“I still got your jumper. Want it back?”

Potter grinned. “Sure.” He scanned the room over Draco’s shoulder. “Where is it?”

“In my… bed.”

Shite. If that wasn’t a two knut pick-up line, then Draco was Minister of Magic.

Potter tried to keep a neutral face for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. “Are you trying to say you’re using my jumper as a comforter?”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco said before pulling Potter inside, closing the door behind him.

Potter gasped when Draco pushed him against the closed door. Draco grabbed Potter’s hands and pressed them to the door above Potter’s head. He raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and Potter licked his lip, giving Draco the answer he was looking for.

Draco needn’t be told twice, he kissed Potter eagerly.

His sense of distance, however, must have been deficient, because their teeth knocked together and Potter’s head banged against the door.

“Ouch.”

He knew he shouldn’t have made the first move. It never ends well.

Embarrassed, Draco let go of Potter’s hands. Potter rubbed the back of his head and before Draco could apologise – not that he was about to, mind – he grabbed Draco’s neck and pulled him close in a much softer kiss.

Draco leaned in to the kiss and Potter started to nip on Draco’s lower lip. Once again, Potter led the dance, and Draco did his best to follow. Multitasking truly was a wonderful skill. Potter managed to both suck on his lower lip and toy with some wild hair at the nape of Draco’s neck.

In all honesty, if Potter kept on biting Draco’s lip, there was a possibility Draco would do an embarrassing thing such as moaning or rubbing their crotches together. And Draco was done with making a fool of himself. He shoved a fisted hand in Potter’s hair and drew lightly on his locks to make him raise his head, getting Draco to a better angle. He began to run the tip of his tongue along Potter’s upper lip and when Potter breathed and parted his lips, Draco sneaked in. The moment their tongues touched, Potter let out an incredibly hot moan.

That’s when Draco’s blood definitely left his brain in favour of other destinations.

He became exceedingly aware of Potter’s firm body against him. Literally stuck between him and the door. He was eager to discover if Potter’s skin would be smooth under his fingertips. Except for his arms, Draco hadn’t touched Potter without a layer of fabric between them, whereas Potter had had the opportunity to make the most of Draco’s bare torso that very morning. For the sake of evenness, Draco slid his free hand under the hem of Potter’s t-shirt.

“Mwaifht” Potter drew apart. “Wait.” He was breathing fast. His eyes, made dark by dilated pupils, were searching frantically for Draco’s.

Salazar help him, it seemed like Draco had gone too far. Maybe Potter didn’t want for Draco to touch him. In Draco’s opinion, that was entirely unfair. Especially considering how he had molested Draco’s nipples in the bathroom. He removed his hand anyway.

“Don’t you think we need to talk before?”

 _Before._  That meant there was an  _after_ , waiting for him. “Talk about what?”

“Dunno. This. You, me.”

“There’s no need to talk, Potter.”

“But…”

“Potter. I’ve found out I quite enjoy your company when you don’t talk. Don’t ruin this for me.”

“Hmpf-”

Draco didn’t let him argue. He shut him in a kiss and resolutely slipped his hands under Potter’s t-shirt. His stomach was toned and smooth under Draco’s fingertips.  All too soon, Potter broke the kiss and gave a shove to Draco’s chest.

“Sorry, I’m gonna say it anyway.” He took a deep breath and fixed a resolute stare on Draco. “I’m not sure what this,” he waved between them, “is exactly, and I’m not sure what I want it to be.” Potter closed his eyes and rubbed his brows. “What I do know is…” As Potter stammered, a very distracting shade of pink spread on his cheeks. “I don’t want it to mean  _nothing_ , okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

And Draco leaned in for another kiss. This time he hadn’t had the time to slip his hands under Potter’s t-shirt before Potter broke away and darted a frowning look at Draco.

“What do you mean, okay?”

“Believe it or not, I mean okay. Now shut up.”

Draco tried to resume the kiss, but this time Potter didn’t let him.

“You want it to mean something?”

“Merlin’s bollocks, Potter! I’m fine with whatever you want, alright? If you want to talk about it, we will. Later. Because to be honest, right now I don’t give a flying fuck. I just want your stupid mouth and your stupid body. Bonus if we move it to the bed.”

Potter was gawping at him. It looked like Draco had made his point.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to remove your shirt.”

Potter still looked stunned but he raised his arms anyway. Draco wanted to take his time, to reveal the skin inch by inch, but somehow his resolution flew away. He got rid of the cloth and drank the sight of perfection before him. It wasn’t the first time Draco had seen Potter shirtless. He had seen him on a regular basis, in the eighth years’ bathroom, wearing only towels on the hips. But this was the first time Potter was standing this close. And it was the first time Draco was properly allowed to look.

Even in the late December, Potter’s skin was tanned. His shoulders looked even broader without a shirt on. Draco could see every line of muscle under the smooth skin. How Potter could have grown from the scrawny short boy he had been to this fit muscled man in a few months, Draco had no clue. Clearly Quidditch was to blame for these abs and, Salazar. These pecs. Toned, strong, and smooth. Comfy-looking. Where Draco’s chest wore a layer of silver fuzz, Potter’s skin was bare. In fact, Potter’s torso was entirely hairless except for the thin dark line starting from his navel and leading to…

Holy shit.

Draco swallowed painfully.

He could bet his life there were no pants under Potter’s jeans.

“If you’re done checking me out, maybe we could go on with your plan.”

Plan? What plan?

Potter jerked his head towards the bed and Draco remembered his proposition. Forgetting all seemliness, he nodded vigorously.

He grabbed Potter’s bare waist and kissed him lightly on the lips, before turning him to the right. Then, he put both hands on each of Potter’s smooth, firm, hot, strong pecs, and oh God, where was he going with it, again? Ah, yes, the bed. He pushed Potter with more strength than planned and Potter fell on his back.

Harry Potter was in his bed. Half naked, propped on his elbows, obviously turned on and waiting for him.

The sight made him feel dizzy.

He climbed on the bed, one knee on either side of Potter’s hips and lowered his head towards Potter’s. They kissed eagerly for a few minutes, before Potter shoved his hands under Draco’s shirt. He startled at the touch.

Potter’s eyes were smouldering behind his crooked glasses. Draco tittered huskily, took one arm of the glasses between two fingers and arched a questioning eyebrow. Potter nodded slightly and Draco removed the spectacles.

God, but Potter’s eyes were huge. Fucking glasses!

Draco leaned and kissed Potter’s thick dark lashes. He moved to Potter’s cheekbones, right, and left. Then the corner of his mouth, left, right. Then his jaw, right, left.

Too bad for symmetry, Potter hadn’t pierced both his ears.

Draco finally had the chance to do what he had wanted to the entire afternoon. He kissed Potter’s ear, then licked his lobe, making Potter gasp.

“Sorry,” he said hastily, shifting back. “I didn’t think of it. Does it still hurt?”

Potter was flushed. “No, erm,” he croaked, and cleared his throat. “It doesn’t hurt. Carry on.”

So Draco carried on. He took the ring between his teeth and teased Potter’s lobe with the tip of his tongue. At every breath he let out in Potter’s ear, the man beneath him gasped and shifted.

“God, this is hot.” He whispered in Potter’s ear. “You’re hot.”

He didn’t know what had got into him. He hadn’t planned on saying that, but it was no less true for all that. And it made Potter shiver and reach upward under his shirt so, all in all, it was a good idea.

He began to kiss the hollow of Potter’s neck. Each time Draco’s lips touched Potter’s skin, he let out an incredibly hot moan. After a while, he let go of Potter’s neck and carried on his travel down Potter’s body.

He kissed his shoulders, right, left, then each of Potter’s dark nipples. He kissed down every muscle of Potter’s stomach and before he knew it, Potter had removed his long-sleeve shirt.

Now, with time to spare, Potter took the time to actually look at Draco’s chest. The thin scars from their months-ago duel in the bathroom were more obvious in the moonlight than in the light of the bathroom or the firelight when he had come back from his forfeit.  Draco’s embarrassment was forgotten, though, when Potter’s warm hands moved to the small of his back.

Draco bent and sucked lightly on Potter’s left nipple, and the green-eyed man wriggled beneath him. He teased the right one with his tongue and Potter let out a moan. Merlin, Draco wanted to make him fall apart.

He pressed their bare chests together. Potter’s skin felt sweaty against his, but Draco didn’t care. He rubbed their torsos and pressed his hips against Potter’s. He could feel Potter’s erection against his.

Potter tried to run his fingers in Draco’s hair, but it was still arranged in a messy bun – hopefully not too messy, Salazar help him – and Draco winced.

“Can I?” asked Potter, tugging gently on Draco’s elastic band and Draco shook his head.

“Certainly not.”

There was no way he’d let Potter try and wreck his precious hair. Undoing a rubber band was serious business.

He sat back upright on his knees. Seeing that Potter was watching him, he self-consciously tensed his stomach. His hair was messier than expected, and he struggled a little getting rid of the band. Potter bit his lip as he let his hair fall on his shoulders.

Potter moved as if to touch Draco, but Draco didn’t let him. He looked as though he was going to talk.

“Don’t.” Draco said firmly.

Potter worried his lip and nodded. He shoved his right hand into Draco’s hair and planted his left on the small of his back.

Draco bent to resume their kiss. Potter’s hand in his hair was an absolute delight. Who would have thought having long hair would be so useful in the bedroom?

He was sucking hard on Potter’s neck when the other man froze under him.

“God, Draco, stop.”

Draco drew back. He had already seen this flustered look on Potter’s face. He raised a teasing eyebrow. “What’s the matter?”

“If you don’t stop right now, I’m going to,” Potter closed his eyes. “Y’know.”

Draco smirked, “Already? But I haven’t touched you,”  _yet,_ he didn’t dare add, for fearing of driving Potter over the edge with words alone.

“Yeah. Yeah, already.” Potter scowled. He was still flushed and breathing fast, so Draco wasn’t impressed by Potter’s death stare. “There’s no need to make fun of me.”

A slow smile grew on Draco’s lips. He had made Potter almost come from just kissing. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said sarcastically. “That’s not your fault, after all. I’ve been told I have a truly gifted mouth.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you pretentious git.”

Draco drew him into yet another fervent kiss, until something occurred to him. He broke apart. “Do you want me to?”

“Shut up? Yes, very much so.”

“No you prat.” Draco snarled. He wouldn’t admit aloud, but he was a bit turned on by their bickering. “Touch you, I mean.”

Potter took a huge gasp of air. “Yes?” Draco wondered why it had come out as a question. “I mean, if you want to.”

“Very much so.” Draco grinned. He didn’t know where his confidence came from. Maybe Harry’s beautiful eyes were inspiring him.

“I haven’t done this before,” Potter stopped him as Draco started to unzip Potter’s flies.

“Good.” Draco locked his eyes to Potter’s smouldering ones. “Me neither.”

 

❅

 

 

Their breath had steadied ages ago, but they were still lying on their backs, naked and quiet.

What was Draco supposed to say? Thanks for the wank? I hope you haven’t changed your mind and still want it to mean something, because, gee, I’m in this deep now?

And why wasn’t Potter talking? Was he starting to regret it already? Was he waiting for the right amount of time before leaving for his own room? What was the right amount of time exactly?

Draco felt his heart tighten at the thoughts. He wanted him to stay. He wanted to curl into Potter’s arms and say sappy things he would regret in the morning. God if he didn’t want to fall asleep on Potter’s shoulder.

But right now, he was still covered in their come, and it had started to feel cold and sticky. He could even feel some of it leaking down his love handle.

Potter jerked when Draco straightened up.

He purposefully avoided Potter’s gaze as he reached for his wand in the drawer of the bedside table. He quickly cast a Scourgify on his stomach and turned to face the gorgeous man in his bed.

Potter was smirking, both hands under his head. “What about Hermione’s restriction?”

Draco cast another spell on Potter and put his wand back in the drawer. “What about it?”

“How did you get around it?” Potter asked, with a playful glint in his eye. He turned to his side, allowing Draco more space in the tiny bed. He was fucking handsome and Draco had no idea how he could ever recover from the sight.

Draco lay on his side, facing Harry. “Well, I figured it out, obviously.”

Potter literally beamed. “How does it work?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “If you think I’m going to share my Slytherin tricks with you, you’re barking up the wrong kneazle.”

Potter rolled his eyes. “ _Accio wand_.”

“What?”

And as if Summoning things wandlessly was a normal thing to do, Potter’s wand flew from his jeans on the floor to his open hand.

“See? I don’t need your ‘Slytherin tricks’.” He air-quoted idiotically, still holding his wand.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Alright, let’s forget about the,”  _fucking hot_ , “wandless magic part.” Draco waved vaguely. “And about the fact that you keep your wand in the back pocket of your jeans, which is stupid,” Draco said in his practiced drawl. “How did  _you_  do it?”

Potter shrugged. “I transfigured a stick to look like my wand. I’ve never put the real one in the box. And since it’s the box that’s cursed, I’ve got no problem with my wand.”

Draco blinked. That was brilliant.

“Thanks,” Potter grinned.

Bugger. He hadn’t intended to say it aloud.

Potter smugly inspected his nails in a failed attempt to appear casual. “So, what about you?”

“You remember how I got pranked the first night? Well, it only happened when I put the wand back in the box. I can assure you I still had hair before leaving my room.” As if he would have left it otherwise. “And you know how Hermione had insisted on warding the chalet herself?”

Potter nodded, visibly confused.

“Well, the night of the second day, after the football game, I had cast a warming charm on myself when I was still outside. And then, a drying one,  _after I got back inside_. And when I put my wand back in the box, nothing happened. That’s how I got it.”

Potter frowned.

“The spell doesn’t detect if you’ve used magic inside! It would have been too complicated, I don’t even know if it’s possible.” Draco tried to keep his voice low. Clever magic tended to do this to him. “She’s crossed two spells. A simple Priori Incantatem reveals if your wand has used magic since the last time in the box and a more complex charm detects if you’ve passed Hermione’s wards. It’s basic Arithmancy. It’s brilliant, of course, but nothing I couldn’t have come up with.”

Potter looked like he couldn’t help but join Draco in his hilarity. “Brilliant! So, how do you do it? You retrieve your wand after every one’s asleep and go out to delude the box?”

Draco nodded excitedly. “Exactly! And since I usually wake up before everyone, I just put it back in the morning.”

Potter laughed heartily and kissed Draco’s forehead.

“Remind me exactly why you need your wand every night?”

Draco tried not to blush at the innuendo. “I could ask you the same thing.” He quirked an eyebrow. “I, for one, happen to have a very bratty cat that refuses to let me sleep unless he’s played catch-the-light first. You would know all about him.”

Potter propped up on his elbow and jerked his head towards the floor. “Looks fine to me.”

Draco followed Potter’s gaze. Hyperion was curled on Potter’s jumper, fast asleep. “Stupid creature.”

Potter laughed and kissed Draco’s cheek. Without asking permission, he drew the covers over the two of them, raised Draco’s right arm and curled against him. “If you want my opinion, I think he’s quite inspired.”

 

❅

 

 

Somehow, they had managed to shift places during the night. Draco was facing Potter’s back. He had his right arm around Potter and – Merlin knows how _this_ had happened – their fingers were intertwined. The fluffy hair under his fingertips told him Hyperion had joined the party and was probably the reason Draco was stuck against the wall.

According to the light flooding the room, the night was over.

According to the sounds coming from downstairs, all of their friends had woken up. There were laughter and kitchen noises. They must be eating.

According to the clock on the wall, they weren’t eating breakfast.

But according to Draco, it was way too early. There was no way he’d let go of Potter now or, you know. Ever.

He closed his eyes, tightened his grip and fell back asleep.

When he opened his eyes, however, Potter was gone. Before he could properly freak out, he noticed Potter’s shirt and jumper on the floor. His glasses were on the bedside table. Potter would have probably left half naked, but surely he wouldn’t have left without his glasses. He was almost blind, right?

Draco took the spectacles and opened the arms. He looked through the round glasses to evaluate how blind Potter really was. He could see everything neatly but oddly tinier. He put the glasses on his nose.

Except for sunglasses, Draco had never worn spectacles. The first thing he noticed was the fact that the rim was too wide for his face. After a few moments, his eyesight adjusted to the glasses. If he focused enough on a precise point, he could distinguish the point in question, but everything else was blurry. And if he turned his gaze, he had to focus again to see something that was not blurry. It was exhausting and made his eyes ache. He wondered if that was the kind of eyesight Potter had without his spectacles.

When someone cleared his throat at the door, Draco startled dramatically and removed the glasses quickly.

Potter was leaning against the doorframe, his chest bare, grinning like a fool. Something about his face looked changed. “Enjoying yourself, Malfoy?”

“Oh, shut up.” Draco straightened and drew the covers back on his torso. “I thought you’d left. I was thinking I could sell them and wondering how much your precious fan club would give me.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but sure, feel free to sell whatever you want.” Potter stepped forward and clumsily closed the door behind him.

Draco cursed himself internally. Of course, Potter couldn’t have seen Draco wearing his glasses. He had just guessed Draco was up to something because of the start. “Did you bump into everything in your path?”

“I may have bumped into a living something when I left the bathroom, but I’ve no idea which pet it was. I’m betting Crookshanks.” Potter grinned. “Could you find my glasses, please?”

“They’re on the bedside table, you idiot. C’mere.” Draco patted the bed beside him.

Potter jumped on the bed. Draco carefully slid them on Potter’s nose. “Hi.” Potter was beaming. Merlin, Draco could get used to this.

“Hi,” Draco replied.

Harry surprised Draco with a kiss on the nose. “Slept well?”

“Well, I slept. What else could I ask for? Space, normal body temperature and comfort? Nah, that’s overdone.” Not that he was about to admit it, but Draco had in fact slept better than he had in months. Years maybe. As was evident from the late hour.

Potter grinned and Draco noticed he had done that a lot during the last minutes. “You dork.”

Draco smiled and leaned his back on the headboard.

They stood there in an awkward silence for a few minutes. Potter was gently petting Hyperion who wriggled under the touch and Draco was busy watching him intently.

They both began to speak at the same time.

“Do you-”

“Shouldn’t we-”

And they chuckled like crazy children. Draco had never chuckled so freely with anyone. It felt nice.

“You first,” said Potter.

“Shouldn’t we go downstairs? The others will start to be suspicious by now.”

Potter bit his lips. “Don’t you think it’s a bit late to worry about that?”

“Point.” Draco smiled, before thinking about something. “Aren’t you scared of what they might imagine?”

Potter shrugged, as if it was a normal way of communicating. “Hermione’s already figured it out, and I’m quite sure she told Ron, so, no.”

“Hermione knows?” Draco’s voice sounded a little too high pitched for his liking.

Potter grinned. “Why exactly do you think she gave you this room?”

Stunned, Draco didn’t respond for a few instants. The pieces started to click together. It made sense, of course. Yet, he didn’t like the idea of Hermione knowing something about him… before him. And he surely didn’t need Hermione’s blessing if he wanted to sleep with the Boy-He-Loved. Merlin, when had he started to think of Potter that way? Draco slapped himself mentally. “Well, because I’m charming and I deserve what’s best.”

“That you are,” Potter said, his cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

Draco couldn’t help it anymore. He leaned over and kissed the corner of Potter’s lips. “I believe it’s your turn.”

“Right,” said Potter. His blush deepened and he looked resolutely at Hyperion as he asked, “Do you regret last night?”

Draco’s eyes widened. He slowly shook his head. “Absolutely not. Do you?”

“No.” Potter said firmly, darting his eyes to Draco. Salazar, but Draco loved these eyes. “Are you ready to talk about this now?” He waved between the two of them.

Draco nodded, afraid of what might come next.

“Look, Malfoy. Draco.” Potter frowned. “See? I don’t even know what to call you!”

This flustered Potter had always been his favourite. Draco grinned. “Whatever you want,  _love_.”

Potter hit him on the arm. “Don’t you dare make fun of me! Everything that’s said with your hand on my cock shouldn’t count.”

Draco bit his lips not to laugh. “Alright, I apologise. You can call me either, I don’t care.” Seeing a faint shadow passing through Potter’s eyes, he withdrew. “Actually, I think I prefer Draco. At least when it’s the two of us.” Draco smirked. “But I wouldn’t mind that last one, either.”

Potter scowled but a joyful glint was dancing in his eyes. “I’ll keep that in mind. So,  _Draco_.” He raised an eyebrow as if he was daring Draco to say something. “Look.”

Draco looked. And waited.

“I’m not used to kissing around. And even less...” He waved. Salazar, where had he learnt to communicate? “You know… I’d never kissed a bloke before. God, I didn’t even know I liked boys!”

Potter bit his full lips and Draco swallowed hard.

“And I liked it. Merlin, who am I kidding? I loved it. Not because you’re a bloke, but because you’re you. And I still don’t know what I want, because I want you for you, and not because you’re the first bloke I kissed and I’m afraid I may be confusing things, and I’m still figuring things out, but if you’re okay with that, I’d like to keep on doing this. I’d like to be  _with you_ , but without pressure or expectations for now, because I’m not sure I’m ready yet. God I hope you want it too.”

Draco took a deep breath as if he was the one who had reeled this off without breathing.

Potter bit his lips and Draco wondered if it was to avoid talking more, which was, come to think of it, quite a good resolution. Draco took Potter’s chin between two fingers and raised Potter’s head. He looked scared.

“Look, Harry.” Potter’s eyes widened. “I like you. I don’t know how this happened. Merlin knows I hated you for years, but yet here I am, naked in bed, waiting for you to tell me you like me back.” Potter looked as though he was going to talk but Draco put his fingers on the man’s lips. “Let me finish. I’m not used to doing this either. But I want to be with you. It can be casual, or serious, secret or public. I’d be okay with any of this. We’ll take our time. I just want you. Any way you’d like.”

Draco removed his fingers and Potter didn’t wait. “I like you too.” He grinned. “Thank you.” He added more seriously after a few seconds. “I’m done talking now.”

Potter drew the covers down Draco’s torso and leaned down kiss him.

Soon, Potter’s jeans were forgotten on the floor and they were back under the covers, kissing and panting.

“Merlin, Draco, I want…” Potter was hovering on top of Draco, breathing hard. Draco had his hand around both their cocks. “I want  _more_.”

Draco froze. “What do you mean by more? Do you want to fuck?”

Potter chuckled. As if it was funny! “Yes. I want to make love to you.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You sappy Gryffindor.” He kissed Potter gently on the lips. “Are you sure? There’re plenty of other things we can do. We don’t have to do this now.”  _We’ll have loads of time later_ , he wanted to add. Later sounded like a sweet promise. But he didn’t want to scare Potter off.

“I know. But god Draco, you’re gorgeous, and I want you so bad.”

If Draco still had any reservations, Potter’s breathless declaration washed them all away.

“Alright.” He said in a breath. “Which way do you want?”

Potter’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t thought about that.  _Stupid prat._  “I don’t know. What would you prefer?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Well, since you obviously have no idea what you’re doing, I think it’s best if I bottom.”

Instead of a reply, Potter blinked.

“You fuck me.”

Draco felt Potter’s cock throb in his hand.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Budge over, I’m gonna prepare myself.”

Potter rolled and lay on Draco’s right. Draco reached for his wand in the bedside table, making Hyperion fall on the floor. He mumbled the spells he had practiced to clean, open and lube himself up.

His hands were shaking when he put his wand back in the drawer. He made himself comfortable, slightly spread his legs and waited. Potter was breathing fast beside him, but Draco didn’t dare look at the man.

“In your own time.”

“Hmmm, I love it when you sweet-talk,” Potter whispered in his ear.

Draco giggled. “Sorry, I’m a little nervous.”

_Never acknowledge your weaknesses._

Shit but this man was going to be Draco’s death.

“You still can say no.”

Potter had removed his glasses at some point. Nothing else mattered in Draco’s world than those green, earnest, eyes. “Fuck me, Potter.”

Irony hit Draco. That was definitely not the first time he had said those words to the raven-haired boy. However, he highly doubted he could have imagined meaning them _literally_ at the time.

Potter chuckled. He clumsily settled between Draco’s legs and planted a hot kiss on his lips. Draco felt himself harden again.

Potter adjusted himself for a moment, thrust forward, and missed. Draco gasped. That shouldn’t have been so sexy. Potter tried again, and this time, Draco felt a pressure and without warning, Potter was there. Everywhere.

“Fuck, Potter, it’s all or nothing with you, huh?” Draco said between clenched teeth.

“God, sorry. Did I hurt you?”

“No, it’s okay, it’s-” Draco took a deep breath, adjusting himself. “More weird than anything.” He took several more breaths, before saying. “Okay, you can move.”

And Potter did just that. It mostly felt odd, but Draco could see the potential. He was beginning to properly relax and enjoy himself when Potter said, “Merlin, Draco, I’m not sure I can last.”

And indeed he couldn’t.

“You’re not disappointed, are you?”

“No Potter, I’m not disappointed.”

“But you haven’t finished…”

“Yes, about that. I wouldn’t mind a helping hand…”

 

❅

 

A nap, a few Scourgifies, and a couple of clumsy blowjobs later, they were both dressed and ready to go downstairs.

“You sure you want to go and face everyone? It’s not too late to Apparate back to Hogwarts and hide ‘til the end of the term,” offered Draco.

“Yes, I’m sure,” He leaned to kiss Draco and took his left hand.

“Holding hands huh?”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re not comfortable, we don’t have to.”

“No I’m fine with it.” Draco grinned. More than fine, actually. “But in fact, I had another plan.”

Potter stopped at the door and let go of Draco’s hand, giving him a questioning look.

“Remember when you forced a _Gryffindor beany_ on my person?”

Potter’s eyes widened, and Draco smirked.

“It’s time for payback, mon chou”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be reassured, no cat was harmed for this chapter. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! Thanks for sticking with me, and for all your lovely comments. Hope you'll enjoy !

Draco had been prepared and wasn’t disappointed.

As anticipated, the very second they entered the room, everyone stopped what they were doing and erupted into cheers. Draco suffered more embraces and congratulatory pats on the back than he could possibly have imagined, but managed to keep a straight face after a fashion.

Potter’s hand in his definitely helped.

What Draco had not expected, though, were the bets.

Apparently, all their cohorts had thought it wise to wager on his fucking love life and had taken sides during the last few days. Millicent, Theo, Patil Two, Goldstein, Macmillan and Thomas were the sceptical ones whereas Daphne, Blaise, Hermione, Boot, Patil One, Finnigan and Weasley were the _shippers_ – or at least, that’s what Draco thought he’d heard.

He watched with a certain annoyance as a cashmere scarf’s worth of sickles was gathered at the centre of the table.

At first, Potter’s grip was tense in his hand, but the more money changed hands, the more he seemed to relax.

“Why, Dean, you could have shown a little faith!” He exclaimed after Thomas solemnly swore he would give his due to Finnigan at a more appropriate moment.

Draco gritted his teeth during the division of the winnings. But if he had assumed they would resume their activities and leave him alone after that, he was wrong.

Because naturally, placing actual wagers on the issue of their private relationship-thing wasn’t enough. No, they had to know every fucking detail now, didn’t they? After that, Draco and Potter were asked a bunch of embarrassing questions – from _who had kissed who first_ to, to Draco’s utter mortification, _did Potter join Draco before or after midnight_ – because of course, they had been bored shitless without them this morning and had bet on everything possible.

Draco just couldn’t believe his ears.

The more questions Potter answered, the more Draco wanted to cast Unforgivables on the lot of them.

“They’re not even trying to be discreet about it,” he grumbled.

Potter laughed heartily. “I guess we haven’t been either.”

“I still can’t believe they all bet on us.” Draco said icily.

“You’re one to talk!” Potter elbowed Draco.

“Ouch.” Draco scowled at Potter who was grinning like a fool. “And anyway. I wager on little things, not on people’s private life. I feel violated.”

Potter shrugged, clearly shooting for casual, and missing the mark somewhat spectacularly. “But it’s a good thing, right? It means they’re accepting it.”

Draco didn’t reply. He was having trouble imagining any good in it, but he wisely refrained from saying as much.

Draco studied Potter’s features while the man laughed at something he hadn’t caught. His body language was revelatory, and Draco took the measure of how much Potter had been worried, despite what he had said before. One would have thought living for your friends’ approval was Hufflepuff trademarked, but clearly some Gryffindors were sappy prats as well.

Anyhow, the huge grin on Potter’s face was sort of contagious and Draco had to leave the group to hide his rising smile.

He wandered about the house for a few minutes and when he spotted a basket of fruits on the kitchen counter, he suddenly realised how hungry he was. He took an apple for himself and another for Potter because he was feeling generous.

When he came back to the living room, wagers were still being resolved. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the doorframe. As Potter finally looked up from his conversation with Daphne on the other side of the room, Draco offered the apple, raising a silent eyebrow. Potter’s face broke into a stunning grin and he nodded enthusiastically.

Slightly overwhelmed by the warm sensation that spread through his belly at the sight, Draco threw the apple to Potter across the room. Despite the-admittedly rubbish-launch, Potter managed to beautifully catch the apple, without even interrupting his conversation with Daphne.

 _Show off_ , thought Draco, drinking the sight of Potter nevertheless.

“You should stop that, you’re gonna hurt your teeth,” Hermione slipped in a few moments later, pulling Draco out of his daydream.

Startled, Draco jerked, almost knocking himself out on the doorframe in the process. He hadn’t realised he was gritting his front teeth, something he tended to do when concentrating. He unclenched his jaw and smiled crookedly to acknowledge Hermione’s presence.

Hermione gave him a dazzling grin in return. “I’m happy for you, by the way,” she said, gently elbowing him.

Draco felt a rush of affection for her and pushed down the urge to hug. “So am I,” he replied lightly.

 _So was he_ , indeed.

His cheeks started to heat under Hermione’s curious gaze, and he tried hard not to picture Potter naked. Just in case.

“Alright pals, it’s time for the last bet,” shouted Weasley, standing for some reason on the dining table. “I think we can all agree I’ve wrecked that one.”

“What did he wager?” Draco asked.

Hermione grinned. “He reckoned that, when you finally joined us, you’d claim Harry either with a piece of clothing, a love bite of some sort, or by holding hands.”

Draco felt himself going pale.

It wasn’t a good look on him. Malfoys were _fair_ , not _pale._

Embarrassed, he looked away from Hermione’s wry smile and took his time – because why not? – checking Potter out. As Draco had anticipated, he looked stunning in Slytherin green. His eyes were sparkling, the colour made brighter by the shade of the jumper. Maybe it was Draco’s imagination, but his hair seemed even messier than usual. And there it was. A hickey, right in the soft spot of Harry’s neck. Draco wondered when he had done that. He certainly hadn’t intended to mark Potter.

Or had he? He couldn’t tell.

“Looks like I’ve won him a bit of money,” he stated as he watched handfuls of Galleons converge towards Weasley.

Draco had never thought he’d see the day he would make Weasley rich, much less be happy about it.

 

❅

 

“TEN, NINE, EIGHT…”

Why they had chosen to set off fireworks to celebrate the New Year was beyond Draco. For some unfathomable reason, they had bothered with Muggle fireworks when magical ones would have been easier to launch, nicer and just as unremarkable to passing Muggles. That made absolutely no sense. But there they were anyway, gathered in the tiny snow-covered garden.

Draco was cold. His feet were wet. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. They were standing at the exact same spot where Potter and he had shared their first kiss a few days ago and Potter had let him put his arm around his waist. There were surrounded by their friends and schoolmates but Draco only had eyes for Potter. Overwhelmed by Potter’s scent and heat, he could see images from earlier in the day every time he closed his eyes. Harry naked. Harry groaning his name while Draco had his mouth around his prick. Harry laughing in his arms, under the covers.

“THREE, TWO, ONE…”

There was an awkward moment during which nothing happened. Then, several fireworks flew at the same time, almost deafening Draco in the process. The sky lit up with what seemed like every color in the world, from the green, red, yellow, and blue of Hogwarts to violet and orange, indigo, and scattered pale whites and golds. Draco blinked, dazzled.

“HAPPY NEW YEAR!” Everyone shouted, hugging and kissing.

“Happy new year, Draco,” Potter whispered in his ear, making him shiver.

Potter looked at him, his big green eyes smouldering with affection, and kissed him eagerly. In front of everyone.

Come to think of it, the kiss lasted probably longer than reasonable in front of an audience. But, honestly, who cared?

They were together. Draco and Harry. It didn’t sound less weird than the thousand times before, but it seemed more and more tangible.

Once the hustle and bustle from the bets had died, everyone had started to act normally, as if nothing had changed, and all in all, the afternoon had passed in almost heavenly amiability and comradeship. Draco had even been able to steal a few kisses now and then. He was positive he had never seen the Golden Boy smile this broad and this long before. Potter still hadn’t pronounced the b-word, but to be honest, Draco wasn’t sure it mattered.

Draco and Harry stood there, in each other’s arms, for a few moments. Their foreheads were touching. Neither of them was talking; they contented themselves with breathing the same air and looking through each other’s eyes.

Harry’s eyes had never been this green and this huge.

And of course – because he was an utter twat like that – Draco broke the mood by saying something really, really, _really_ , stupid.

“God, I love-”

Harry’s eyes widened, mirroring Draco’s stunned expression. Mortified, Draco swallowed painfully.

“-fireworks,” he completed after what couldn’t have possibly been mistaken for a dramatic break.

“I love fireworks,” he repeated while feeling very sorry for himself.

 

❅

 

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Did you like it?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t bad.”

“Better than yesterday?”

“Why, Potter, do you want me to rate you on a scale from one to ten?”

Potter blushed and grumbled something that sounded like “MerlinyourinfuriatingIfuckinghateyou”, but Draco couldn’t be sure because he had said that with his face shoved in the pillow.

“Why do you care?” asked Draco, trying to make it sound casual.

Potter raised his head. “Because I liked it.” He frowned. “And I would very much like to do it again soon.”

Draco bit his lip to stifle a smile. “Well,” he said after a while, “It was indeed better than yesterday. And it lasted longer, which is a good thing. I think we’re getting to it.”

Relief was visible on Potter’s face. “Even if you haven’t… y’know… during… I mean while I was… y’know... again?”

Draco laughed and kissed Harry’s forehead. “You’re adorable.”

Potter blushed gorgeously and hid his face on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco had said it without even realising it, but it was no less true. And if anyone had something against it, they’d better hold their peace. Considering that he had had Potter’s cock up his arse moments before, he had every right to say whatever he pleased, thank you very much.

Draco took Harry’s chin between two fingers and raised his head, making the shorter man look him in the eye.

“I liked it,” he said softly.

Harry beamed and Draco’s insides made a funny loop.

“It’s sweet for you to worry about me, but I think all we need is practice.”

Potter’s eyes widened a bit at the suggestion, and he blushed brightly. Draco couldn’t resist a bit of teasing. “After all, practice is supposed to _culminate_ in perfection, right?” Potter winced at the cheesy pun and turned a little redder.

“Maybe we should try a different position,” Draco continued when Potter didn’t seem reassured. “It might just be better some other way.” Potter nodded, his flush spreading to his chest. He buried his face in Draco’s neck. Merlin, how can someone slay a fucking Dark Lord and be embarrassed at a little sex talk? “We could also try getting prepared the Muggle way. Taking our time with it might help. We haven’t got to use magic for everythings. I could show you how to do it,” Draco offered.

Harry nodded again, and then spoke huskily into Draco’s neck. “I’d like that.”

“Next time,” said Draco. _Sweet, sweet promise._

Harry tightened his grip and just stayed there, half on top of Draco, half hanging out of the bed.

After a while, Harry broke away. “We should pack now; the others will be waiting for us.”

Draco didn’t answer and nervously began to play with a stray lock of hair on his neck. Funny how quick he had caught the habit.

“Actually,” he said, avoiding eye contact, “I have something for you, before we leave.”

“A present? For me?” Potter asked, visibly surprised.

“That’s what I said,” Draco drawled.

Potter was looking at him with big worried eyes. “But it’s not Christmas! And I have nothing for you! I didn’t know it was a thing, I-”

“Shut up,” Draco said more sharply than intended. “There’s no such thing as New Year’s present exchange tradition. Although mind you, being a Malfoy, I can very well invent my own traditions if I please.”

Potter didn’t answer, so Draco kept on softer, “Besides, if we are going to,” _date_ , was the natural ending of the phrase, of course, but he had promised himself he wouldn’t say it before Harry did. So instead he waved and said, “keep on, you’re gonna have to get used to the presents.”

Potter’s eyes widened and suddenly, Draco began to feel anxious. He wiped his sweaty hands on the sheets before reaching for the tiny package in the bedside table. He had bought it on a whim, and hadn’t thought of the implications, but now that he thought of it, he could see how wrong he might have been. He hadn’t considered that maybe, Harry would see it as the expectations he very much wanted to avoid for now. The same ones that Draco was guilty of having, of course.

“S’nothing, really. I saw it in the souvenir shop when we were shopping yesterday with Hermione, and I thought about you.”

The package looked tiny in Harry’s hands.

What if he didn’t like it? What if he hated it? What if he thought Draco was ridiculous and mushy and left him? God, Draco was about to faint.

Oblivious to Draco’s internal meltdown, Potter opened the package.

“You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t like it!” Draco hurried to say, in a high-pitched voice.

Potter, busy reading the companion text at the back of the jewel, didn’t reply. He frowned a little and Draco was sure he hated it.

“I don’t understand what’s written,” explained Potter after some painfully long moments.

Draco let go of his swollen lip and stammered, “Remember Étoile des Neiges? The song. This,” he pointed to the piece of cardboard, “is the chorus. And the snowflake, it’s the Étoile des Neiges. Remember the lyrics? ’My loving heart’, well that’s me. And you’re Beautiful Eyes, obviously. You’re the Snow Star. I’m sorry, it’s sappy. Really, you don’t have to wear it, it’s just-”

Potter cut him off with a kiss.

“It’s beautiful, Draco,” he said, freeing the thin chain from the piece of cardboard.

“You like it?” Draco squeaked.

“I love it, you idiot. Why wouldn’t I?” Potter said slowly as if talking to an ignorant first year.

Draco let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Because it’s sappy and sentimental.”

“It’s romantic,” Harry said before kissing his nose. “Now help me attach it.”

 

❅❅ EPILOGUE ❅❅

 

“I’ve told you we should have gone to Switzerland,” Draco drawled. “Gimme the sunscreen.”

Harry sighed. “You’re never satisfied,” he grumbled. He started rummaging about in the rucksack on his lap and kept on mumbling with increasing volume, “Last year it was too snowy, the year before that it was too foggy, it’s just sun for Godric’s sake!”

Harry found what he was looking for and handed it to Draco.

“I’ll have you know that I have very delicate skin,” Draco snorted, took the tube from Harry’s hand and shoved his sticks in Harry’s waiting hand. He removed his gloves and stuck them between the seat of the chairlift and his thigh. “And,” he said, smearing the suntan lotion on his cheeks, “I still don’t understand why we had to come back here of all places. We know the slopes are rubbish here, and the room doesn’t even have a Jacuzzi.”

Harry shrugged. Draco watched, intrigued, as he began to chew his bottom lip, a bad habit when he was nervous.

“I wanted to do something special for our fifth year anniversary,” Harry said without making eye contact with Draco. “And I thought coming back here would be romantic. But I guess I forgot to consider what an insensitive git you are.”

“ _I_ am being the unromantic one? Do we need to discuss the time in the Italian restaurant?” Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Fair point,” Harry admitted, chuckling.

Draco closed the sunscreen and handed the tube to Harry, who put it back in the bag. Harry offered the bottle of water to Draco in a silent question, and Draco shook his head before putting his gloves back on. Harry handed the sticks to Draco whilst drinking from the bottle. Draco settled his sunglasses back on his nose.

Once Harry had shoved the bottle in the bag, he leaned against the backrest of the lift and tilted his head back, eyes closed.

The years had been kind to the features of the man Draco loved. If he had been handsome when they had started to date, the last few years had seen him grow into this beautiful and sexy man. Auror training had done some wonderful things to his body, and his face had lost the roundness of his younger years. His teenage facial hair had become plain and sexy stubble against which Draco always enjoyed rubbing. Nowadays, he wore his hair short and slicked back in a stylish way Draco had spent several hours teaching him. He was simply gorgeous and Draco would be a fool not to take the time to appreciate it.

Draco leaned and softly kissed Harry’s cheek. “I’m glad we’re here, love.”

Harry opened his eyes, beaming. His eyes wandered on Draco’s face a few seconds before starting to glint mischievously. “You’ve got some cream on your nose.”

Draco frowned and began to remove his glove, but Harry put his hand on his.

“Lemme,” he said.

He leaned and gently wiped Draco’s nose. His eyes were sparkling and his mouth broke into the lopsided smile he usually kept in reserve for when he had something in mind and wanted to be sexy. Not that he needed hard work to have Draco the way he wanted, really.

Harry’s finger lingered for a moment on Draco’s cheek and he eased into a kiss. Draco gladly complied. Snogging on the chairlift truly was his favourite winter sport.

And this chair lift was definitely a really long one, so there was no rush at all. They spend a few minutes kissing like horny teenagers and Draco had almost forgotten where he was altogether when the chairlift stopped abruptly.

“Oh, bugger, not again,” he grumbled, breaking apart.

Harry chuckled, his cheeks slightly pinker than before.

“I reckon chairlifts don’t stop this often in Switzerland,” Draco mumbled.

“You’ve won the right to snog me longer, why are you complaining?” Harry said cheekily.

But before Draco had the time to lean again to resume the kiss, they heard a distant sound behind them. Quickly, the sound became more audible, and Draco recognised the song.

 _“Etoile des Neiges,_  
_Mon cœur amoureux,_  
_S’est pris au piège,_  
_De tes grands yeux.”_

Harry and Draco looked at each other before bursting out laughing at the same time.

After a few moments, Harry’s face grew serious again. He rubbed the back of his neck and, to Draco’s surprise, said, “I guess that’s my cue.”

Harry searched through his bag a few moments before finally taking a little box out of it.

A little, square, _black_ box.

_Merlin’s. Fucking. Bullocks._

Harry cleared his throat and Draco felt as if all his blood was leaving his face.

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry began, an endearing shade of pink spreading on his cheeks. “You do know by now that I love you very much.”

Salazar help Draco. This was happening.

“And I intend to do so for the rest of my life.”

Draco had forgotten how to breathe. Was it in and out or out and in, already?

“So I was wondering,” Harry’s voice had begun to shake, “If you’re willing, maybe you could do me the honour of-” Harry swallowed and managed, in a hoarse voice, “of being my husband.”

Draco felt a strange wetness on his cheeks as Harry opened the box, revealing a ring.

Harry was watching him hopefully and Draco just couldn’t stand it.

He did what he knew how to do best. He tangled a fist in Harry’s hair and kissed him with his soul. He started with a soft pressure, and then began to nip lightly at Harry’s bottom lip. The moment Draco’s tongue touched Harry’s lip, Harry moaned and Draco knew.

He knew he wanted to hear this sound every day of his life. He wanted to feel these lips against his every day of his life.

_“Je te donne en gage cette croix d’argent,  
Et de t’aimer toute la vie j’en fais serment.”_

Draco pressed his body against Harry’s, forgetting he was holding ski poles.

“Watch out!” Harry exclaimed, breaking the kiss. “You’re gonna make the ring fall.”

Draco jerked back and giggled. He raised a teasing eyebrow. “That’ll teach you to propose on a chairlift.” His voice was a little high from the emotion, but he didn’t care.

Harry elbowed him gently, laughing.

For a moment, they just stood there, the box still open in Harry’s hand, slowly rocking in the stationary chairlift, smiling like utter idiots.

“How long have you been wandering ‘round with the ring in your backpack?” asked Draco, conversationally, trying to hide his genuine curiosity.

Harry shrugged. “Since the beginning of the hols. I was waiting for the right moment.”

“You sappy Gryffindor,” said Draco softly, before leaning in for a soft kiss. “I guess you haven’t asked Mother for my hand?”

“Nope,” Harry said, cheekily.

Draco rolled his eyes and leaned in another kiss. He stood there for a moment, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder, looking at the ring. It was a simple platinum band encrusted with a table cut diamond. Beautiful, elegant, perfect.

“So?” asked Harry after a while.

“So what?”

“Do you accept?”

“You made me wait for two bloody months before agreeing to go on a proper date with me, and you honestly hope I’m giving you an answer straight away?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I forget to mention the song _Étoile des neiges_ is actually about an engagement? Oops, it must have slipped my mind. ;D
> 
> Dans un coin perdu des montagnes                       _In the mountain backcountry_  
>  Un tout petit Savoyard                                           _(There was) A tiny Savoyard_
> 
> Etoile des neiges                                                  _Snow Star_  
>  Mon coeur amoureux                                           _My loving heart_  
>  S'est pris au piège                                                _Has been entrapped_  
>  De tes beaux yeux                                                _By your beautiful eyes_
> 
> Je te donne en gage                                               _I give you, as a token,_  
>  Cette croix d'argent                                              _This silver cross_  
>  Et de t'aimer toute la vie                                       _And to love you every day of my life_  
>  J'en fais serment                                                    _I make the vow_
> 
> Hélas, soupirait la bergère                                    _Alas, sighed the shepard_  
>  Que nous diront nos parents                                _What will our parents say_  
>  Comment ferons nous                                          _How will we do_  
>  Nous n'avons pas d'argent                                   _We don't have any money_  
>  Pour nous marier dès le printemps                      _To get married on the first day of spring_
> 
> Etoile des neiges                                                  _Snow Star_  
>  Sèche tes beaux yeux                                          _Wipe your beautiful eyes_  
>  Le ciel protège                                                     _The sky takes care_  
>  Les amoureux                                                      _Of the lovers_
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> Kudos and comments are <3  
> Come say hello on [Tumblr](https://bloodyflammable.tumblr.com/)!


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